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CAP   AND    BELLS 


SAMUEL   MINTURN  PECK 


•'/  only  ivear  the  cap  and  bells^'' 

FREDERICK  LOCKER 


NEW  YORK 

WHITE,  STOKES,  &  ALLEN 

1886 


Copyright,  x886, 
By  white,  stokes,  &  ALLEN. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I  Wonder  what  Maud  will  Say  !    ....  3 

Dollie 7 

A  Knot  of  Blue  (For  the  Boys  of  Yale)    .        .  9 

A  Fair  Attorney 11 

The  Dimple  on  her  Cheek 14 

The  Sailor's  Sweetheart 16 

At  the  Making  of  the  Hay 18 

Under  the  Rose 19 

The  Lass  with  Laughing  Eyes      .       .       .       .21 

My  Mandolin 23 

A  Kiss  in  the  Rain 25 

Eulalie 27 

The  Skater  Belle 29 

Lillian's  Fan 30 

My  Sweetheart 34 

Mabel 36 


395896 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

To  Lillian's  First  Gray  Hair .       .       .       .       .39 

Cupid  at  Court .40 

Bessie  Brown,  M.  D 42 

Adieu,  ye  Flowers 45 

An  Afterthought 47 

The  Bride 49 

Zephyrus  and  the  Lily 50 

My  Little  Girl 54 

On  the  Stair 56 

Good-night,  Sweetheart 58 

She  is  not  Bom  of  High  Degree  .  .  .  .59 
My  Wee  Love  went  a-Maying  .  .  .  .61 
Go  Hold  White  Roses  to  thy  Cheek  ...      63 

MabePs  Window 65 

At  Sea 67 

O,  Sweetheart,  Where  are  You?  .        .       .        .68 

Her  Casement 70 

A  Song  to  the  Roses 71 

Serenade      .       .        . 73 

Citron  Blossoms 75 

Ye  Timid  Winds 77 

If  I  could  Weave  into  My  Verse  .  ...  .  78 
The  Song  of  Mariana 80 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE 

The  Orange  Tree 82 

Somewhere 84 

The  Meadow  Path 86 

The  Captain's  Feather 88 

Boat  Song 90 

Alabama 93 

The  Pines 95 

I  Love  the  Shadows  Best 96 

Noontide 97 

The  Exiles 99 

The  Blossoms  of  the  Sea 102 

The  Pictures  in  the  Sky 104 

The  Singer's  Reward 106 

The  Flight  of  Summer 108 

The  Little  Blue-eyed  Thief no 

My  Comrade 113 

A  Dream 115 

Mock  Orange 117 

The  Happy  Day 119 

Hafiz 122 

A  Dirge 124 

In  Haven 125 

Paul  Hamilton  Hayne 127 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

At  the  Ball 129 

Chinese  Gordon 133 

The  Phantoms  of  the  Night 135 

A  Legend 137 

Come,  O  Pan 140 

Bonnie  Belle 141 

She  tossed  to  me  a  Kiss 143 

The  Pixies 144 

For  Love 146 

The  Praise  of  Rhyme 147 

O  Wayward  Muse 148 

Night-fall 149 

Among  my  Books 150 

A  Gentle  Little  Lady 151 

Forget-me-not 153 

Before  the  Dawn 154 

Under  the  Flash  of  Tapers  Bright       .        .       .155 

Come,  Archer,  Come I57 

If  some  True  Maiden's  Love  were  Mine    .        .158 

Sleep 160 

When  the  Cricket  Sings 161 

In  the  Southern  Pines 162 

beyond  the  Night     ,       ,       ,       ,       .       .       .164 


TO  MY  FA  THER  AND  MOTHER. 


Beneath  the  Cap  and  Bells  to-day 

With  lightsome  heart  I  lead  the  way 
To  quips  and  games  and  jollity  : 
Come,  Gallants,  let  your  laughter  be 

The  guerdon  of  the  frolic  fray. 

In  camp  and  court,  in  woods  of  May, 
Still  Folly  holds  her  merry  sway. 

The  world's  a  jest.    Come  laugh  with  me 
Beneath  the  Cap  and  Bells. 

What  songs  we'll  sing  !   What  pranks  we'll  play  ! 

But  hold,  good  Sirs — your  pardon,  pray. 
If  sadder  notes  than  those  of  glee 
Should  mingle  with  our  minstrelsie  : 

The  jester  is  not  always  gay 

beneath  the  Cap  and  Bells. 


I  WONDER  WHAT  MAUD  WILL  SAY! 

DEAR  Harry,  I  will  not  dissemble, 
A  candid  confession  is  best  ; 
My  fate— but  alas,  how  I  tremble  !  — 

My  fate  I  must  put  to  the  test  : 
This  morning  I  gathered  in  sadness 

A  strand  from  my  locks  slightly  gray  ; 
To  delay  any  longer  were  madness — 
I  wonder  what  Maud  will  say  ! 

The  deed  it  were  well  to  do  quickly,— 
Macbeth  makes  a  kindred  remark  : 

I  wonder  if  Mac  felt  as  sickly 
When  he  carved  the  old  king  in  the  dark  ! 


WHAT    WILL    MAUD    SAY? 


The  fellows  who  marry  all  do  it. 

But  what  is  the  usual  way  ? 
Heigho  !  don't  I  wish  I  were  through  it ! 

1  wonder  what  Maud  will  say  ! 

Pray  advise.    Would  you  fix  up  a  letter 

With  rhymes  about  roses  and  trees  ? 
To  tell  it  perchance  would  be  better  : 

Alas,  must  I  get  on  my  knees  ? 
No  ;  kneeling  is  now  out  of  fashion 

Except  in  a  novel  or  play. 
Ah,  love  is  a  Protean  passion  ! 

I  wonder  what  Maud  will  say  ! 

Would  you  give  her  a  pug  or  a  pony, 

A  picture  or  only  a  book  ; 
A  novel— say  Bulwer's  "  Zanoni," 

Or  a  poem—"  Lucile,"  "  Lalla  Rookh  "; 
Bonbons  from  Maillard's,  or  a  necklace 

Of  pearls,  or  a  mammoth  bouquet  ? 
By  Jove  !  I  am  perfectly  reckless — 

I  wonder  what  Maud  will  say  J 


WHAT   WILL    MAUD   SAY? 


Shall  I  speak  of  the  palace  at  Como 

Which  captured  the  heart  of  Pauline  ? 
There's  a  likeness  of  Claude  in  a  chromo  ; 

Would  you  buy  it  and  practice  the  scene  ? 
But  no  !  I'm  no  Booth,  nor  an  Irving  ; 

My  fancy  has  led  me  astray. 
To  a  lover  so  true  and  deserving 

I  wonder  what  Maud  will  say  ! 

Could  I  warble  like  Signor  Galassi, 

In  passionate  song  I  would  soar, — 
I  recall  she  applauded  him  as  he 

Serenaded  the  fair  Leonore  ; 
My  strain  should  resound  love-compelling. 

Far  sweeter  than  Orpheus'  lay  ; 
Already  my  bosom  is  swelling — 

I  wonder  what  Maud  will  say  ! 

Shall  I  tell  her  my  love  very  gravely, 

Or  propose  in  a  moment  of  mirth. 
Or  lead  to  the  subject  suavely. 


JVHAT    WILL    MAUD    SAY? 


And  mention  how  much  I  am  worth  ? 
Old  fellow,  I  know  I  shall  blunder  ; 

When  she  blossoms  as  bright  as  the  day, 
My  wits  will  be  dazzled.    Oh,  thunder  ! 

I  wonder  what  Maud  will  say  ! 


DOLLIE. 

SHE  sports  a  witching  gown 
With  a  ruffle  up  and  down 
On  the  skirt. 
She  is  gentle,  she  is  shy  ; 
But  there's  mischief  in  her  eye, 
She's  a  flirt  ! 

She  displays  a  tiny  glove, 
And  a  dainty  little  love 

Of  a  shoe  ; 
And  she  wears  her  hat  a-tilt 
Over  bangs  that  never  wilt 

In  the  dew. 

'Tis  rumored  chocolate  creams 
Are  the  fabric  of  her  dreams — 
But  enough  ! 


DOLLIE. 

I  know  beyond  a  doubt 
That  she  carries  them  about 
In  her  muff. 

With  her  dimples  and  her  curls 
She  exasperates  the  girls 

Past  belief : 
They  hint  that  she's  a  cat, 
And  delightful  things  like  that 

In  their  grief. 

It  is  shocking,  1  declare  ! 
But  what  does  Dollie  care 
When  the  beaux 
Come  flocking  to  her  feet 
Like  the  bees  around  a  sweet 
Little  rose  ? 


A  KNOT  OF  BLUE. 
{For  the  Boys  of  Yale,) 

SHE  hath  no  gems  of  lustre  bright 
To  sparkle  in  her  hair  ; 
No  need  hath  she  of  borrowed  light 

To  make  her  beauty  fair. 
Upon  her  shining  locks  afloat 

Are  daisies  wet  with  dew, 
And  peeping  from  her  lissome  throat 
A  little  knot  of  blue. 

A  dainty  knot  of  blue, 
A  ribbon  blithe  of  hue, 
It  fills  my  dreams  with  sunny  gleams, — 
That  little  knot  of  blue. 

I  met  her  down  the  shadowed  lane, 

Beneath  the  apple  tree. 
The  balmy  blossoms  fell  like  rain 


A  KNOT  OF  BLUE. 


Upon  my  Love  and  me  ; 
And  what  I  said,  or  what  I  did 

That  morn,  I  never  knew. 
But  to  my  breast  there  came  and  hid 
A  little  knot  of  blue. 

A  little  knot  of  blue, 
A  love-knot  strong  and  true, 
'Twill  hold  my  heart  till  life  shall  part,- 
That  little  knot  of  blue. 


A  FAIR  ATTORNEY. 

ALAS  !  the  world  has  gone  awry 
Since  Cousin  Lillian  entered  college, 
For  she  has  grown  so  learned  I 

Oft  tremble  at  her  wondrous  knowledge. 
Whene'er  I  dare  to  woo  her  now 

She  frowns  that  I  should  so  annoy  her, 
And  then  proclaims,  with  lofty  brow, 
Her  mission  is  to  be  a  lawyer. 

Life  glides  no  more  on  golden  wings, 

A  sunny  waif  from  Eldorado  ; 
I've  learned  how  true  the  poet  sings, 

That  coming  sorrow  casts  its  shadow. 
When  tutti-frutti  lost  its  spell, 

I  felt  some  hidden  grief  impended  ; 
When  she  declined  a  caramel, 

I  knew  my  rosy  dream  had  ended. 


A   FAIR  ATTORNEY. 


She  paints  no  more  on  china  plaques, 

With  tints  that  would  have  crazed  Murillo, 
Strange  birds  that  never  plumed  their  backs 

When  Father  Noah  braved  the  billow. 
Her  fancy  limns,  With  brighter  brush. 

The  splendid  triumphs  that  await  her, 
When,  in  the  court,  a  breathless  hush 

Gives  homage  to  the  keen  debater. 

'Tis  sad  to  meet  such  crushing  noes 

From  eyes  as  blue  as  Scottish  heather  ; 
'Tis  sad  a  maid  with  cheeks  of  rose 

Should  have  her  heart  bound  up  in  leather. 
'Tis  sad  to  keep  one's  passion  pent, 

Though  Pallas'  arms  the  Fair  environ 
But  worse  to  have  her  quoting  Kent 

When  one  is  fondly  breathing  Byron. 

When  Lillian's  licensed  at  the  law 

Her  fame,  be  sure,  will  live  forever ; 
No  barrister  will  pick  a  flaw 


A   FAIR  ATTORNEY. 


In  logic  so  extremely  clever. 
The  sheriff  will  forget  his  nap 

To  feast  upon  the  lovely  vision. 
And  e'en  the  Judge  will  set  his  cap 

At  her,  and  dream  of  love  Elysian. 


THE  DIMPLE  ON  HER  CHEEK. 

WITHIN  a  nest  of  roses, 
Half  hidden  from  the  sight, 
Until  a  smile  discloses 
Its  loveliness  aright. 
Behold  the  work  of  Cupid, 

Who  wrought  it  in  a  freak, 
The  witching  little  dimple — 

The  dimple  on  her  cheek  ! 

The  Sirens'  lays  and  glances 

To  lure  the  sailor  nigh  ; 
The  perilous  romances 

Of  fabled  Lorelei, 
And  all  the  spells  of  Circe 

Are  reft  of  charm  and  weak. 
Beside  the  dainty  dimple — 

The  dimple  on  her  cheek  ! 


THE  DIMPLE   ON  HER  CHEEK. 


Were  these  the  golden  ages 
Of  knights  and  troubadours, 

Who  brighten  olden  pages 
With  tourneys  and  amours, 

What  lances  would  be  broken — 
What  silver  lutes  would  speak, 

In  honor  of  the  dimple — 

The  dimple  on  her  cheek  ! 


THE  SAILOR'S  SWEETHEARl. 

MY  love  he  is  a  sailor  lad,  i 
He  says  he  loves  me  true, 
For  all  my  wealth  of  golden  hair,  j 

Because  my  eyes  are  blue  ; 
And  while  he  is  upon  the  sea, 

Where  raging  billows  roar, 
The  village  lads  come  wooing  me 

At  least  a  half  a  score. 
I  list  to  what  the  laddies  say, 

Of  smiles  they  have  no  lack. 
And  though  I  say  nor  yea  nor  nay, 

I  think  I'll  wait  for  Jack. 

There's  Donald,  and  there's  Robin  Gray, 
Oh,  you  should  hear  them  sigh, 

1  smile  at  them  and  only  say 
I'll  answer  by  and  by. 


THE  SAILOR'S  SWEETHEART. 


They  bring  me  trinkets  from  the  fair, 

And  ribbons  bright  like  this  ; 
And  oftentimes  they  humbly  kneel 

And  plead  me  for  a  kiss, 
But  then  I  turn  and  look  away, 

Across  the  billows  black, 
And  softly  to  myself  I  say, 

1  think  I'll  wait  for  Jack. 

Ye  bonnie  stars  shine  out,  shine  out. 
Ye  billows  cease  your  war  ; 

0  south  wind  rise  and  blow  my  love 
Within  the  harbor  bar  ! 

No  other  lad  can  woo  as  he  ; 

My  smiles  are  shallow  smiles, 
For  oh,  my  heart  is  on  the  sea 

Amid  the  western  isles. 
And  though  I  let  the  laddies  woo 

I  give  no  wooing  back  ; 

1  only  do  as  lassies  do. 
Just  while  I  wait  for  Jack. 


AT  THE  MAKING  OF  THE  HAY. 

WHEN  the  whip-poor-wills  are  calling, 
And  the  apple-blooms  are  falling, 
With  a  tender  tint  forestalling 

Summer's  blush  upon  the  grass  ; 
Where  the  little  stars  are  keeping 
Watch  above  the  meadow  sleeping. 
And  the  jack-o'-lantem's  peeping 
I  will  meet  my  bonnie  lass. 

I  will  seek  her  ;  I  will  find  her  ; 
I  will  slyly  steal  behind  her  ; 
And  with  kisses  1  will  blind  her 

Till  she  names  the  happy  day 
And  when  the  barley^s  heading, 
And  the  summer  rose*  is  shedding. 
Oh,  there'll  be  a  merry  wedding 

At  the  making  of  the  hay  ! 


UNDER  THE  ROSE. 

HE.  {aside.) 

IF  I  should  steal  a  little  kiss, 
Oh,  would  she  weep,  I  wonder  ? 
I  tremble  at  the  thought  of  bliss — 
If  I  should  steal  a  little  kiss  ! 
Such  pouting  lips  would  never  miss 

The  dainty  bit  of  plunder  ; 
If  I  should  steal  a  little  kiss, 
Oh,  would  she  weep,  I  wonder  ? 

SHE.  {aside,) 
He  longs  to  steal  a  kiss  of  mine — 

He  may  if  he'll  return  it  : 
If  I  can  read  the  tender  sign. 
He  longs  to  steal  a  kiss  of  mine  ; 
*'  In  love  and  war  "—you  know  the  line. 


UNDER  THE  ROSE, 


Why  cannot  he  discern  it  ? 
He  longs  to  steal  a  kiss  of  mine- 
He  may  if  he'll  return  it. 

BOTH.  {Jive  minutes  later.) 
A  little  kiss  when  no  one  sees — 

Where  is  the  impropriety  ? 
How  sweet  amid  the  birds  and  bees 
A  little  kiss  when  no  one  sees  ; 
Nor  is  it  wrong,  the  world  agrees, 

If  taken  with  sobriety. 
A  little  kiss  when  no  one  sees, 

Where  is  the  impropriety  ? 


THE  LASS  WITH  LAUGHING  EYES. 

I  KNOW  a  lass  with  laughing  eyes 
Whose  mouth  is  like  a  berry. 
She  cannot  frown — she  never  tries— 

Her  heart  is  always  merry. 
On  all  the  lads  she  smiles  in  glee, 

Her  teeth  are  of  the  whitest  ; 
But  Oh  !   the  smile  she  gives  to  me, 
It  is  the  best  and  brightest. — 
Across  the  mead, 
O'er  rock  and  reed, 
My  Love  hath  gone  a-Maying  ; 
And  one  who  knows 
The  path  she  goes 
No  longer  can  be  staying. 


THE  LASS  WITH  LAUGHING  EVES. 

The  bluebird  pipes  his  blithest  lay, 

The  wild  bees  hum  in  metre. 
My  Love  is  in  the  wood  to-day, 

And  I  have  come  to  greet  her. 
It  cannot  be  that  life  allows 
A  purer  joy  than  this  is — 
To  meet  a  lassie  'neath  the  boughs 
And  tell  your  love  with  kisses. 
Good  bye,  good  bye, 
My  hope  is  high, 
I  can  no  longer  tarry  ; 

For  men  must  woo 
When  eyes  are  blue, 
And  bonnie  maids  must  marry. 


MY  MANDOLIN. 

A  RELIC  from  Provengal  days 
Of  gay  amours  and  tourneys  bright, 

Across  its  strings  my  fancy  strays — 
I  am  a  troubadour  to-night. 

Where  fountains  leap  and  roses  climb, 
And  mountain  zephyrs  seaward  wing, 

I  stand  and  troll  an  ardent  rhyme 
To  one  who  blushes  while  I  sing. 

With  gleeful  grace  my  numbers  swell, 
My  fingers  glide  from  fret  to  fret ; 

With  quickening  pace  my  love  I  tell 
In  virelay  and  chansonnette. 

The  vision  fades  in  roseate  mist ; 

Another  glads  my  dreamful  eye  : 
With  snowy  plume  in  bannered  list, 

I  wait  the  herald's  clarion  cry. 


24  ^y  MANDOLIN, 

A  charge  !  a  shock  !  I  see  him  reel — 
My  rival — 'neath  my  gleaming  lance  ; 

While  trumpets  sound  I  proudly  wheel 
To  greet  the  fairest  face  in  France. 

I  wend  me  where,  enthroned  above, 
She  sits  amid  the  courtly  throng  ; 

With  beating  heart  I  crown  my  love 
The  queen  of  beauty  and  of  song  ! 

Alas,  alas  !  'tis  but  a  dream, 

The  sun  of  chivalry  has  set ; 
Tis  vain  to  mourn  its  faded  beam, 

'Twill  rise  no  more.    And  yet — and  yet- 

I  know  a  maiden  passing  fair 
A  modern  troubadour  would  win  ; 

So,  Mabel,  drop  that  mocking  air, 
And  I  will  tune  my  mandolin. 


A  KISS  IN  THE  RAIN. 

ONE  stormy  morn  I  chanced  to  meet 
A  lassie  in  the  town  ; 
Her  locks  were  like  the  ripened  wheat, 

Her  laughing  eyes  were  brown. 
I  watched  her  as  she  tripped  along 

Till  madness  filled  my  brain, 
And  then — and  then — I  know  'twas  wrong- 
I  kissed  her  in  the  rain  ! 

With  rain-drops  shining  on  her  cheek. 

Like  dew-drops  on  a  rose, 
The  little  lassie  strove  to  speak 

My  boldness  to  oppose  ; 
She  strove  in  vain,  and  quivering 

Her  finger  stole  in  mine  ; 
And  then  the  birds  began  to  sing. 

The  sun  began  to  shine. 


26  A    KISS   IN    THE    RAIN. 

Oh,  let  the  clouds  grow  dark  above. 

My  heart  is  light  below  ; 
'Tis  alway  summer  when  we  love. 

However  winds  may  blow  ; 
And  I'm  as  proud  as  any  prince. 

All  honors  I  disdain  : 
She  says  I  am  her  7'ain  beau  since 

I  kissed  her  in  the  rain. 


H 


EULALIE. 

ER  voice  is  like  the  mocking-bird's  upon  the 
myrtle  tree, 
Her  eyes  are  like  the  summer  stars  that  frolic  on  the 

sea  ; 
Oh,  'tis  rapture  to  look  at  her  ;  and  it  sets  my  heart 

abeat, 
Just  to  catch  the  pretty  patter  of  her  merry  little  feet. 

The  Fairies  spun  her  tresses  on  a  spindle  made  of 

pearl. 
Then  dipped  them  in  the  summer  shine  and  put  them 

up  in  curl ; 
And  when  I  see  them  flutter,  as  she  dances  in  the  wind, 
I  wish  I  were  a  butterfly,  or something  of  the  kind. 

I  know  that  Cupid  did  it,  and  I  think  it  was  a  sin 
To  carve  a  cunning  dimple  in  the  middle  of  her  chin  ; 


88  EULALIE. 

For  it  is  a  crime  to  covet — so  says  the  Law  Divine — 
Yet  I  look  at  it,  and  love  it,  and  I  want  it  all  for  mine. 

She  whispers  that  she  loves  me  !     Now  be  it  under- 
stood, 
The  tidings  are  delightful — I'd  believe  them  if  I  could  \ 
But  in  her  vocabulary  with  its  tantalizing  flow 
The  truth  will  often  tarry  far  behind  a"  yes,'^  or  "  no." 

She  smiles  at  me  !    She  frowns  at  me  !   She  knows  I 

cannot  fly  ; 
O  Cupid  come  and  aid  me  with  an  arrow  on  the  sly, 
That  when  the  orange  bowers  are  blowing,  Eulalie 
May  wear  the  snowy  flowers  in  a  bridal  wreath  for 

me  ! 


THE  SKATER  BELLE. 

ALONG  the  ice  I  see  her  fly 
With  moonlit  tresses  blown  awry, 
And  floating  from  her  twinkling  feet 
Are  wafted  sounds  as  silvery  sweet 
As  April  winds  when  May  is  nigh. 

Is  it  a  Naiad  coy  and  shy  ? 
Or  can  it  be  the  Lorelei 

Who  lures  me  with  her  rare  deceit  ? 

It  is  the  hour  for  ma'gic  meet  ; 
Resist  the  spell,  'twere  vain  to  try. 

Her  beauty  thrills  the  earth  and  sky 
From  glowing  cheek  and  flashing  eye  ; 
And  as  she  wanders  fair  and  fleet 
The  spangled  branches  bend  to  greet 
And  wave  a  kiss  as  she  goes  by. 


L 


LILLIAN'S  FAN. 

ITTLE  fan,  of  fluff  and  pearl, 
Tell  me,  pray,  is  life  a  whirl 
Of  delight  ? 
In  Folly's  fickle  crew 
There  is  naught  as  blithe  as  you, 
Or  as  bright. 

You  know  no  other  skies 
Save  my  lady's  azure  eyes 

All  a-gleam  ; 
And  beneath  them,  night  and  day, 
Lo,  the  moments  glide  away 

Like  a  dream. 

Each  silver  strain  a-float 
From  my  lady's  slender  throat 
You  have  heard  ; 


LILLIAN'S   FAN, 


And  oftentimes  you  nest 
In  the  roses  at  her  breast 
Like  a  bird. 

Oh,  the  blushes  you  have  hid, 
And  the  notes  behind  you  slid, 

Naughty  fan  ! 
The  witcheries  you  weave 
Have  the  cunning  to  deceive 

Any  man. 

Humanity  rebels 

If  I  mention  half  the  spells 

You  employ  ; 
You  laugh  at  breaking  hearts, 
And  a  lover's  aching  smarts 

You  enjoy. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  everything, 
Still  1  bless  your  snowy  wing, 
When  you  dare 


LILLIAN'S  FAN, 


To  screen  her  head  and  mine 
So  "  mamma"  may  not  divine 
^  Who  is  there. 

I  envy  you  her  touch— 

Oh,  1  cannot  tell  how  much  ; 

It  is  sad  ! 
Just  to  see  her  gayly  tip 
You  against  her  cherry  lip 

Drives  me  mad  ! 

Alas,  I  would  I  knew 

Half  the  secrets  known  to  you, 

Dainty  fan  ! 
As  it  is,  my  fate  I  guess, 
In  Damoclean  distress, 

As  I  can. 

Beauty's  pet,  a  word  aside — 
While  you  flutter  in  your  pride 
Have  a  care  ; 


LILLIAN'S   FAN.  33 

Or  ere  the  season's  through 
She  may  weary  too  of  you, 
So  beware ! 


MY  SWEETHEART. 

SHE  never  graces  crowded  balls 
Where  fevered  waltzes  thrill. 
She  never  dreams  of  marble  halls 

And  vassals  at  her  will  ; 
She  dances  where  the  waterfalls 

Are  leaping  wild  and  free, 
Then  sinks  to  sleep  in  cottage  walls, 
And  only  dreams  of  me. 

She  never  glances  down  the  street 

From  faeton  or  coupe, 
She  does  not  know  the  mode  to  greet 

A  lover  at  the  play  ; 
But  from  the  loaded  hay  my  sweet 

Oft  sees  the  swallows  soar, 
And  well  she  knows  and  flies  to  meet 

My  footstep  at  the  door. 


MV  SWEETHEART, 


So  let  the  statesman  pass  me  by 

And  win  the  noisy  game, 
And  let  the  soldier's  banner  fly 

Along  the  road  to  fame  ; 
Wealth  too  may  go  ;  for  what  care  I 

Beneath  this  dome  of  blue, 
If  I  can  gaze  in  Maggie's  eye 

And  know  she  loves  me  true  ! 


MABEL. 

FAIR  Mabel  bids  me  sing  to-night ! 
Should  Mabel  plead  in  vain  ? 
Dear  Muse,  when  lovely  lips  invite, 
Ah  !  sweet  should  be  the  strain  ; 
So  lend  my  lyre  a  blither  lay, 

Whose  winsome  glee  shall  flow 
As  lightly  as  the  winds  at  play, 
Where  summer  roses  blow. 

Fair  Mabel  bids  me  sing  to-night ! 

In  days  of  old  romance, 
The  minstrel  sang  for  Beauty  bright, 

The  gallant  broke  a  lance  ; 
And  both  in  homage  proudly  knelt 

To  loveliness  and  grace — 
Ah,  luckless  age  !  it  never  felt 

The  charm  of  Mabel's  face  ! 


MA  BEL. 


37 


Fair  Mabel  bids  me  sing  to-night  ! 

Her  voice  is  low  and  pure  ; 
Oh,  who  can  hear  that  voice  aright, 

And  yield  not  to  its  lure  ? 
Or  who  can  meet  those  peerless  eyes 

That  dim  the  vestal's  flame, 
And  never  feel  a  yearning  rise 

To  win  a  poet's  name  ? 

Fair  Mabel  bids  me  sing  to-night ! 

Ah,  could  my  numbers  chime 
With  Herrick's  grace,  or  vie  in  flight 

With  Waller's  courtly  rhyme  ; 
Oh,  I  would  voice  a  strain  to  match 

Her  every  lissome  wile  ; 
And  centuries  to  come  should  catch 

The  splendors  of  her  smile. 

Fair  Mabel  bids  me  sing  to-night  ; — 

Alas  !  she  pleads  in  vain  ! 
The  Muse  hath  winged  a  silent  flight 


MABEL. 


Beyond  the  silver  main. 
A  song  for  Mabel  were  too  sweet 

For  mortal  ears  to  know  ; 
I  only  catch  its  rhythmic  beat 

When  Dreamland  zephyrs  blow. 


TO  LILLIAN'S  FIRST  GRAY  HAIR. 

WEIRD  visitor,  what  dost  thou  there, 
Amid  gay  Lillian's  golden  tresses? 
A  traitor  to  the  reigning  fair, 
Thy  pallid  hue  thy  guilt  confesses. 

Still  at  her  shrine  love-poets  sing, 
Enamored  artists  ply  their  brushes  ; 

Still  Cupid  comes  with  wanton  wing 
To  forge  his  arrows  in  her  blushes. 

Avaunt,  I  s^y,  unwelcome  wight, 
Unless  thou  comest  to  adore  her  ; 

For  even  Time  forgets  his  flight 
And  stands  with  ravished  eyes  before  her. 


CUPID  AT  COURT. 

YOUNG  Cupid  strung  his  bow  one  day, 
And  sallied  out  for  sport  ; 
As  country  hearts  were  easy  prey 
Odds  Darts  !  he  went  to  court. 

Of  all  that  wore  the  puff  and  patch, 

Belinda  led  the  fair  : 
With  falbala,  and  fan  to  match, 

I  trow  she  made  him  stare  ! 

"  Oho  !  *'  he  cried,  and  quickly  drew 

His  bow  upon  the  sly  ; — 
But  though  he  pierced  her  bosom  through, 

She  never  breathed  a  sigh  ! 

This  was  a  turn,  beyond  a  doubt, 
That  filled  him  with  amaze. 


CUPID   AT   COURT, 


And  so  he  sought  his  mother  out, 
With  tear-bewildered  gaze. 

"  You  silly  boy,"  Dame  Venus  said, 
"  Why  did  you  waste  your  art  ? 

Go  clip  your  curls  and  hide  your  head,- 
Belinda  has  no  heart  I  " 


BESSIE  BROWN,  M.  D. 

9r  I  -^WAS  April  when  she  came  to  town  ; 

A.       The  birds  had  come,  the  bees  were  swarming. 
Her  name,  she  said,  was  Doctor  Brown  : 

I  saw  at  once  that  she  was  charming. 
She  took  a  cottage  tinted  green, 

Where  dewy  roses  loved  to  mingle  ; 
And  on  the  door,  next  day,  was  seen 
A  dainty  little  shingle. 

Her  hair  was  like  an  amber  wreath  ; 

Her  hat  was  darker,  to  enhance  it. 
The  violet  eyes  that  glowed  beneath 

Were  brighter  than  her  keenest  lancet. 
The  beauties  of  her  glove  and  gown 

The  sweetest  rhyme  would  fail  to  utter. 
Ere  she  had  been  a  day  in  town 

The  town  was  in  a  flutter. 


BESSIE   BROWN,    M.  D. 


The  gallants  viewed  her  feet  and  hands, 
And  swore  they  never  saw  such  wee  things  ; 

The  gossips  met  in  purring  bands 
And  tore  her  piecemeal  o'er  the  tea-things. 

The  former  drank  the  Doctor's  health 
With  clinking  cups,  the  gay  carousers  ; 

The  latter  watched  her  door  by  stealth, 
Just  like  so  many  mousers. 

But  Doctor  Bessie  went  her  way 
Unmindful  of  the  spiteful  cronies. 

And  drove  her  buggy  every  day 
Behind  a  dashing  pair  of  ponies. 

Her  flower-like  face  so  bright  she  bore, 
I  hoped  that  time  might  never  wilt  her. 

The  way  she  tripped  across  the  floor 
Was  better  than  a  philter. 

Her  patients  thronged  the  village  street ; 

Her  snowy  slate  was  always  quite  full. 
Some  said  her  bitters  tasted  sweet  ; 

And  some  pronounced  her  pills  delightful. 


BESSIE   BROWN,    M,    D. 


'Twas  strange — I  knew  not  what  it  meant — 

She  seemed  a  nymph  from  Eldorado  ; 
Where'er  she  came,  where'er  she  went, 
Grief  lost  its  gloomy  shadow. 

Like  all  the  rest,  I  too  grew  ill  ; 

My  aching  heart  there  was  no  quelling. 
I  tremble  at  my  doctor's  bill, — 

And  lo  !  the  items  still  are  swelling. 
The  drugs  I've  drunk  you'd  weep  to  hear  ! 

They've  quite  enriched  the  fair  concocter, 
And  I'm  a  ruined  man,  I  fear, 

Unless— I  wed  the  Doctor  ! 


ADIEU,  YE  FLOWERS. 

ADIEU,  ye  flowers  red  and  white, 
That  when  the  skies  were  blue  and  bright 
We  twined  in  wreaths  and  posies  ! 
Yes,  fate  proclaims  the  hour  is  nigh 
When  we.  Sweetheart,  must  bid  good-bye 
To  summertime  and  roses. 

Can  you  forget  the  ceaseless  flow 
Of  lightsome  jest  and  laughter  low 

That  crowned  the  night  with  blisses  ? 
Within  our  joys  a  thief  was  hid  ; 
Time  envied  us,  he  knows  he  did, 

Our  merry  hearts  and  kisses  I 

How  oft  with  song  we  woke  the  moon, 
How  oft  the  zephyrs  caught  the  tune 
And  onward  wandered  humming  ; 


46  ADIEU,  YE  FLOWERS. 

Not  one  dear  night  with  gleam  and  glow- 
Would  I  exchange  with  Romeo, 
Though  Juliet  were  coming. 

Adieu,  ye  skies  !    No  brighter  stars 
E'er  lit  the  lofty  helm  of  Mars, 

Or  wreathed  the  brow  of  Venus. 
Sweetheart,  though  brief  the  joy  we  quaffed, 
How  gayly  Cupid  would  have  laughed 

If  he  had  only  seen  us  ! 

Alas,  the  rose-tree  now  is  bare  ! 
Its  wondrous  perfume,  spent  in  air. 

Each  day  of  autumn  misses. 
But  do  not  grieve,  rich  are  we  still 
As  long  as  lips  can  coin  at  will 

A  rosy  chain  of  kisses. 


AN  AFTERTHOUGHT. 

'  *"  I  ^WAS  in  the  garden  chatting. 

JL.        Amid  the  mignonette, — 
S  he  with  her  snowy  tatting, 

I  with  my  cigarette. 
I  still  can  see  her  fingers 

Flit  softly  in  and  out  ; 
With  rapture  memory  lingers 

To  view  her  lips  a-pout. 

A  happy  sunbeam  glancing 

Upon  a  wayward  curl 
Set  every  pulse  to  dancing. 

And  turned  my  brain  a-whirl ; 
And  when  she  looked  up  shyly, 

1  could  not  help,  you  see. 
But  stoop  and  kiss  her  slyly, 

Behind  the  apple-tree. 


48  AN  AFTERTHOUGHT. 

Strange  that  some  mote  forever 

Should  mar  the  rays  of  bliss  ! 
Though  conscious  I  had  never 

Yet  won  so  sweet  a  kiss, 
Alas  !  the  act  of  plunder 

So  gracefully  she  bore, 
I  could  not  choose  but  wonder. 

Had  she  been  kissed  before  ? 


THE  BRIDE. 

CROESUS  will  give  her  a  necklace 
Enwoven  of  Orient  pearls, 
Or  a  cluster  of  jewels  all  fleckless 
To  laugh  from  her  shimmering  curls. 

Laon  will  twine  the  sweet  myrtle 
With  posies  that  maidens  love  best — 

Shy  lilies  to  peep  from  her  kirtle, 
Wild  roses  to  blush  on  her  breast. 

Flowers  or  gems  give  I  neither  : 
Apart  from  the  jubilant  throng, 

At  the  feet  of  the  Muses  I  breathe  her 
A  blessing  enshrined  in  a  song. 


ZEPHYRUS  AND  THE  LILY. 

CONTENDING  in  the  midnight  air 
With  silver  voices  full  of  balm, 
Of  late  the  flowers  strove  to  bear 

Away  from  each  the  envied  palm  ; 
And  each  implored  the  zephyr's  powers 
To  make  her  queen  of  all  the  flowers. 

Bursting  the  bodice  that  she  chose 
To  hold  her  charms  but  not  to  hide, 

Spoke  first  a  haughty  crimson  Rose, 
Voluptuous  and  swelled  with  pride  : 

"  I  have  been  called  a  queen  by  mortals 

E'er  since  the  stars  lit  Heaven's  portals  ; 

"  What  envious  flower  shall  take  from  me 

Supremacy  in  floral  throngs  ? 
O  Zephyrus,  canst  thou  not  see 


ZEPHYRUS   AND    THE  LILY. 


To  whom  the  crown  by  right  belongs  ?  " 
And  while  the  storm  of  passion  swept  her, 
She  seemed  to  wave  an  unseen  sceptre. 

A  silence  on  the  garden  fell, 

A  hush  of  anger  and  surprise  ; 
But  soon  I  heard  a  murmur  swell. 

And  caught  the  flash  of  angry  eyes. 
And  then  with  vanity  demented 
The  Poppy  next  her  cause  presented  : 

"  O  Zephyrus,  prithee  give  heed, 
Nor  slight  my  tender  loveliness. 

My  race  is  very  high  indeed  ; 
Though  somewhat  careless  in  our  dress,' ^— 

This  plea  she  thought  she  could  not  fail  in,— 

"  Of  old  our  charms  were  known  to  Galen." 

Too  late  she  paused  !    The  peals  of  mirth 

Rang  merrily  across  the  lawn, 
Like  silver  sounds  that  have  their  birth 


ZEPHYRUS  AND    THE   LILY, 


In  rivulets  at  early  dawn  ; 
And  lo  !  the  Poppy's  face  grew  redder 
With  shame  to  think  how  folly  led  her. 

The  Tulip  next  her  claims  advanced  ; 

And  as  she  flashed  upon  the  night, 
Each  gazer's  eye  beheld  Entranced, 

Her  rivals  trembled  at  the  sight. 
And  as  they  watched  the  pretty  speaker 
They  felt  their  hopes  fast  growing  weaker. 

"  O  Zephyrus,"  they  heard  her  say, 
"  My  gold  and  purple  hues  are  seen  ; 

While  cradled  in  the  moss  I  lay 
I  knew  that  Nature  meant  a  queen. 

On  me  bestow  thy  gracious  powers, 

And  make  me  queen  of  all  the  flowers." 

With  each  on  royalty  intent 

Amid  that  fair  contending  throng, 
Such  witching  charms  had  beauty  lent, 


ZEPHYRUS  AND    THE   LILY. 


Aurora's  son  was  puzzled  long  ; 
Nor  did  he  reach  a  true  decision 
Until  he  saw  a  lovely  vision  : 

A  Lily  at  the  fountain's  brim, 
Racked  by  alternate  hope  and  fear, 

Raised  her  beseeching  eyes  to  him 
Eloquent  with  a  trembling  tear. 

She  did  not  speak  ;  no  words  were  needed, 

Her  peerless  beauty  only  pleaded  ; 

And  Zephyrus  beholding  cried, 

"  Ye  Flowers,  kneel  before  your  queen  ; 
In  all  my  weary  wanderings  wide 

She  is  the  fairest  I  have  seen  ; 
From  every  jealous  thought  dissever  ; 
I  crown  the  Lily  queen  forever." 


MY  LITTLE  GIRL. 

MY  little  girl  is  nested 
Within  her  tiny  bed, 
With  amber  ringlets  crested 
Around  her  dainty  head  ; 
She  lies  so  calm  and  stilly, 

She  breathes  so  soft  and  low, 
She  calls  to  mind  a  lily 
Half  hidden  in  the  snow. 

A  weary  little  mortal 

Has  gone  to  slumberland  ; 
The  Pixies  at  the  portal 

Have  caught  her  by  the  hand. 
She  dreams  her  broken  dolly 

Will  soon  be  mended  there, 
That  looks  so  melancholy 

Upon  the  rocking-chair. 


My   LITTLE    GIRL. 


I  kiss  your  wayward  tresses, 

My  drowsy  little  queen, 
I  know  you  have  caresses 

From  floating  forms  unseen. 
O,  Angels  let  me  keep  her 

To  kiss  away  my  cares, 
This  darling  little  sleeper, 

Who  has  my  love  and  prayers  ! 


ON  THE  STAIR. 

WHEN  rosy  morn  has  driven 
The  starlight  from  the  deep, 
And  sleepy  charms  are  riven, 
And  slumber  fairies  weep  ; 
With  eyelids  half  uplifted. 

And  senses  half  aware, 
I  listen  to  the  little  feet 
That  twinkle  on  the  stair. 

At  first  I  hear  a  tapping 

No  louder  than  the  rain  ; 
But  soon  adieu  to  napping 

And  slumber's  drowsy  train  ! 
And  then  I  lie  in  wonder 

While  thunder  thrills  the  air, 
From  just  a  brace  of  little  feet 

That  twinkle  on  the  stair. 


ON    THE   STAIR. 


Anon  the  storm  is  waning, 

It  ebbs  without  the  door, 
And  in  the  calm  remaining 

I  catch  the  fading  roar  ; 
And  then  I  fall  a-dreaming 

The  dangers  I  would  dare 
To  keep  from  harm  the  little  feet 

That  twinkle  on  the  stair. 


GOOD-NIGHT,  SWEETHEART. 

GOOD-NIGHT,  sweethe art— the  moon  has  set 
With  parting  glances  full  of  woe  ; 
And  see — the  lily's  cheeks  are  wet  ; 

Good-night,  sweetheart,  good-night  ! 

When  Pleasure  dons  her  coronet 

The  moments  fly  like  sparks  a-glow  ; 
Alas,  it  seems  but  now  we  met — 

Good-night,  sweetheart,  good-night  ! 

Ah,  do  not  weep,  1  will  not  let 

My  darling's  eyes  be  sullied — no  ! 
A  kiss  shall  soothe  thy  fond  regret ; 

Sweetheart,  good-night— good-night  ! 


SHE  IS  NOT  BORN  OF^HIGH  DEGREE. 

SH  E  is  not  born  of  high  degree, 
The  maiden  of  my  song ; 
Upon  her  brow  no  gem  I  see 
It's  fevered  light  prolong; 
And  she  will  never,  never  be 
The  idol  of  a  throng. 

Far  in  a  mossy  woodland  way 

Wild  roses  kiss  her  hair, 
Around  her  feet  the  shadows  play. 

Her  glee  the  swallows  share; 
And  he  will  bless  the  peerless  day 

Who  wins  her  promise  there. 

I  would  I  were  that  happy  knight  ! 
No  storm  could  stay  my  quest ; 


6o        SHE   IS   NOT  BORN  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

Until  1  won  my  lady  bright 
My  lance  should  never  rest. 

For  knight  was  ne'er  in  feast  or  fight 
By  fairer  guerdon  blest. 


MY  WEE  LOVE  WENT  A-MAYING. 

MY  wee  Love  went  a-Maying 
Where  the  mellow  lights  were  playing  ; 
And  the  swaying  shadows  round  her 
Sought  to  peep  beneath  her  hood. 
I  know  the  birds  sang  sweeter, 
While  the  brown  bees  hummed  in  metre, 
And  the  floating  petals  crowned  her 
As  she  wandered  through  the  wood. 

O  the  dew-drops  and  the  flowers 
'Mid  the  fragrance-breathing  bowers. 
How  they  wondered  at  the  glory 

That  enshrined  her  as  she  stood  ! 
Yet  they  laughed  when  I  waylaid  her, 
For  her  drooping  lids  betrayed  her 
As  she  listened  to  the  story 

That  I  told  her  in  the  wood. 


62     ■'■        MY  WEE  LOVE  WENT  A-MAVING. 

Now  the  dreary  winds  are  calling, 
And  the  flakes  are  swiftly  falling, 
But  sweet  fancies  intermingle 

By  the  hearthstone  warm  and  good  ; 
For  my  little  wife  is  sitting, 
With  her  busy  fingers  flitting, 
Far  more  dear  beside  the  ingle 

Than  I  deemed  her  in  the  wood. 


GO  HOLD  WHITE  ROSES  TO  THY  CHEEK. 

GO  hold  white  roses  to  thy  cheek, 
And  twine  them  in  thy  hair  ; 
Go  gaze  into  their  hearts,  and  seek 
The  message  hidden  there  ; 
And  when  they  softly,  sweetly  tell 
Their  secret,  pray  thee  listen  well, 
And  dream  'tis  I  who  speak. 

Go  wander  where,  low  murmuring, 

The  brooklet  glides  a-near. 
And  trembling  willows  droop  and  cling 
With  bended  heads  to  hear ; 
And  when  the  streamlet,  rippling  by, 
Repeats  its  wooing  melody. 
Oh,  dream  'tis  I  who  sing  ! 

Sweetheart,  as  fadeless  perfumes  throng 
From  roses  long  since  crushed 


64        GO  HOLD  WHITE  ROSES  TO  THY  CHEEK. 

And  as  the  brooklet's  tender  song 

Is  never,  never  hushed, 

So  will  my  heart  keep,  day  and  night, 
Its  peerless  love  forever  bright, 
Through  sorrow  and  through  wrong. 


MABEL'S    WINDOW. 

AROUND  her  window  roses  blow 
With  graces  wild  and  rare, 
And  as  they  ripple  to  and  fro 

No  others  shine  so  fair  ; 
For  sleeping  in  the  silver  glow, 

Or  smiling  in  the  rain, 
The  happy  roses  seem  to  know 
It  is  her  window-pane. 

Whene'er  1  greet  the  winds  that  fare 

Across  the  Mexique  sea, 
I  know  it  is  for  her  they  bear 

Such  freight  of  spicery  ; 
For  when  they  near  the  lattice  there 

They  sing  a  softer  strain, 
And  whisper  through  the  fragrant  air — 

It  is  her  window-pane. 


MABEVS    WINDOW. 


I  often  wander  there  at  night 

Beneath  the  summer  skies, 
To  see  the  little  stars  grow  bright 

And  gaze  with  loving  eyes ; 
And  as  their  glances  soft  and  white 

A  purer  lustre  gain, 
I  reel  and  murmur  with  delight — 

It  is  her  window-pane. 


AT  SEA. 

OH,  brightly  shines  in  realms  afar 
With  golden  light  a  lustrous  star  ; 
No  lessening  ray  its  splendor  knows 
That  through  the  night  serenely  glows. 

But  oh  !  for  thee  a  purer  light 
Burns  in  my  heart  both  day  and  night, 
For  gleams  no  star  in  realm  above 
Can  pale  the  constant  star  of  love. 

Oh  lightly  flies  at  dawn  of  day 
The  sea-gull  through  the  silver  spray, 
And  scorns  with  snowy  wing  the  deep 
Whose  threatening  voices  never  sleep. 

But  swifter  than  the  fair  sea-bird 
Speeds  o^er  the  tide  by  tempest  stirred, 
My  thoughts  fly  o'er  life's  stormy  sea, 
And  rest  at  home  with  love  and  thee. 


O,  SWEETHEART,  WHERE  ARE  YOU? 

TH  E  summer  came,  the  summer  sped 
With  garlands  bright  and  fair, 
A  thousand  perfumes  lightly  shed 

Were  lavished  on  the  air  ; 
But  now  the  summer  rose  is  dead, 

The  birds  are  o'er  the  blue. 
Where  is  the  peerless  love  you  plead, — 
O,  Sweetheart,  where  are  you  ? 

The  autumn  winds  were  shod  with  gold 

Beneath  the  sobbing  trees. 
The  autumn  tide  in  splendor  rolled 

A-down  the  Western  seas  ; 
I  wandered  through  the  mossy  wold 

As  we  were  wont  to  do  ; 
You  came  not  as  in  days  of  old — 

O,  Sweetheart,  where  are  you  ? 


O,  SWEETHEART,  WHERE  ARE  YOU?  69 

'Tis  winter  now  :  the  billows  grieve 

Around  the  dreary  shore. 
If  love  is  dead,  Oh,  make  believe 

You  love  me  as  of  yore  ! 
But  no  !  my  fancy  shall  not  weave 

False  dreams  of  one  so  true, — 
You  are  too  loyal  to  deceive  ; 

O,  Sweetheart,  where  are  you  ? 


HER  CASEMENT. 

LO,  beneath  my  lady's  casement 
I  am  watching  here  alone  ; 
Through  the  roses'  interlacement 
Be  my  lissome  carol  blown. 

On,  ye  Zephyrs,  airy  lispers, 
Timid  heralds  of  the  light. 

Breathe  my  love  in  wooing  whispers 
Where  my  lady  sleeps  to-night. 

Onward,  upward,  stealing  quaintly, 
Stir  the  ringlets  round  her  ears  ; 

Kiss  each  fairy  tress,  and  faintly 
Murmur  all  my  hopes  and  fears. 

Dian  pale,  with  spells  enchanting, 
Softly  sways  the  land  and  sea  ; 

Would  a-down  her  sceptre  slanting. 
There  might  glide  a  dream  of  me. 


A  SONG  TO  THE  ROSES. 

O  HAPPY  Roses,  bloom  your  best, 
For  I  have  come  to  cull  you 
To  blush  upon  my  Mabel's  breast ; 
So  let  no  shadows  dull  you. 
With  gems  divine 
From  morning's  eyne 
O'er  Mabel's  bosom  hover. 
And  whisper  oft 
With  perfume  soft, 
I  love  her,  Oh,  I  love  her  ! 

Go,  happy  Blossoms,  act  your  part, 

And  seek  that  balmy  haven  : 
Go  tell  sweet  Mabel  on  my  heart 
Her  darling  name  is  graven. 
And,  Roses,  list. 
When  ye  have  kist 


A  SONG  TO  THE  ROSES. 


My  Sweet,  then  sigh  above  her, 

That  though  ye  die 

And  shattered  lie, 
I  love  her,  still  I  love  her  1 


SERENADE. 

TH  E  Southern  sky  is  pearly  bright 
With  limpid  moonlight  faintly  glowing  ; 
The  mockbird  sues  the  willing  night 

Where  pinky  myrtle  trees  are  blowing  ; 
No  day-born  care  the  soul  encumbers, 

No  sullen  sounds  the  calm  undo, 
While  bird  and  wind,  in  blending  numbers, 
Proclaim  the  hour  to  woo. 

O  lady  fair,  throw  wide  thy  casement, 

Nor  let  thy  minstrel  be  denied  ! 
The  jasmine,  with  soft  interlacement, 

Seeks  not  from  the  moon  to  hide. 
Upon  thy  lattice  starlight  lingers 

Longing  for  thy  golden  hair, 
And  wilt  thou  shun  its  silver  fingers 
Shyly  waiting  there  ? 


SEREN-ADE. 


Ah  !  joy  is  mine  !  through  jasmine  sprays 

My  lady's  eyes,  like  stars,  are  peeping  ; 
See,  mockbird,  see,  their  lovely  rays 

Have  set  the  dewdrops  all  to  leaping. 
How  softly  bend  the  skies  above  her, 
How  gently  coos  the  summer  wind, 
And  all  the  stars,  they  lean  to  love  her. 
My  lady  fair,  and  kind  ! 


CITRON  BLOSSOMS. 

TH  E  orange  trees  were  drifting  down 
Their  snow  upon  the  land, 
And  each  wave  cast  a  silver  crown 

Of  surf  upon  the  strand, 
When  smiling  down,  with  half  a  frown, 
My  lady  rode  into  the  town  ; 
And  left  alone  I  kissed  the  tracks  upon  the  shining  sand. 

At  midnight  by  the  glimmering  lake 

How  soft  the  night-wind  blew  I 
We  saw  the  almond  blossoms  shake 

And  shimmer  with  the  dew  ; 
We  heard  the  distant  billows  break ; 
We  made  the  vows  that  lovers  make, 
Until  the  night  with  silver  wings  beyond  the  ocean  flew. 


76  CI  TRON  BL  OSSOMS. 

The  new  year  came  :  the  air  was  gay 

And  wild  with  rare  perfume, 
For  little  maidens  strewed  the  way 

With  sprays  of  citron  bloom. 
I  cursed  the  blossoms  as  they  lay, 
With  bitter  words  that  fateful  day, 
For  Hwas  my  lady's  wedding  morn,  and  I  was  not  the 

,     groom ! 


YE  TIMID  WINDS. 

YE  timid  winds,  with  rustling  shoon, 
Why  falter  in  your  flight  ? 
Lay  by  your  fears  and  grant  the  boon 

I  fondly  plead  to-night. 
Speed  on,  speed  on  where  roses  wreathe 

My  lady's  lattice  high, 
And  with  your  mellow  cooing  breathe 
The  love  I  fain  would  sigh. 

O  gentle  Sprites,  where  shall  I  find 

A  herald  like  to  ye, 
To  softly  steal  and  stir  her  blind 

And  bid  her  dream  of  me  ? 
Behold,  the  moon  hath  come  to  lend 

Her  light  by  sea  and  shore  ; 
Speed  on,  speed  on  ;  howe'er  ye  wend 

My  love  will  fly  before  ! 


IF  I  COULD  WEAVE  INTO  MY  VERSE. 

IF  I  could  weave  into  my  verse 
The  melodies  the  bees  rehearse, 
Or  by  a  secret  art  ensnare 
The  notes  that  thrill  the  morning  air, 
Perchance  thine  eyes  that  shame  the  sloe 

Would  melt  before  my  lay, 
Nor  let  my  loving  homage  flow 
Unnoted  day  by  day. 

If  I  could  catch  the  rose's  breath 
That  with  the  zephyr  wantoneth, 
Or  twine  about  my  song  the  grace 
That  dreams  upon  the  lily's  face, 
And  sing  thy  peerless  beauty's  charm 

As  sang  the  bards  of  old, 
Perchance  a  tender  smile  would  warm 

Thy  lips  so  rich  and  cold. 


IF  I  COULD  WE  A  VE  INTO  MY  VERSE.  79 

Alas  !  too  well  thy  minstrel  knows 
What  time  his  purest  measure  flows, 
Though  strength  and  skill  his  fingers  bless 
No  strain  can  voice  thy  loveliness  ; 
Yet  do  not  scorn  the  minstrel's  art 

Though  poor  his  lay  may  be  : 
Remember  that  his  song  and  heart 

Are  offered  both  to  thee. 


THE  SONG  OF  MARIANA. 

I    LINGER  at  the  gateway  where  once  we  stood 
together, 
The  withered  lilies  glimmer  and  beckon  eerily. 
O  Truant  Heart !  come  straightway  ;  through  fair  and 
stormy  weather 
My  love  has  ne'er   grown   dimmer,— Dear  Heart, 
come  back  to  me  ! 

The  amber  west  is  fading.     The  gloom   begins  to 
thicken 
Above  the  streamlet  lowly  a-sobbing  to  the  sea  ; 
With  tender  light  upbraiding,  seest  thou  the  starlets 
quicken  ? 
Thou  heedest  them  too  slowly, — Dear  Heart,  come 
back  to  me  ! 


THE  SONG  OF  MARIANA. 


Ah,  were  I  like  the  swallow,  with  joyful  pinions  lifted, 
The  cruel  distance  cleaving,  I'd  swiftly  fly  to  thee  ; 

But  oh  !  I  may  not  follow  :  amid  the  darkness  drifted 
I  cry  out  in  my  grieving,— Dear  Heart,  come  back  to 
me ! 


THE  ORANGE  TREE. 

SHE  stood  beneath  the  orange  tree 
With  its  breathing  blooms  of  white. 
And  waved  a  parting  kiss  to  me 

Through  the  waning  amber  light ; 
And  the  evening  wind  rose  mournfully 
To  meet  the  coming  night. 

The  stars  came  out,  and  I  sailed  away. 
Away  through  the  Mexique  sea— 

Away,  away,  for  I  could  not  stay  ; 
And  oft  on  bended  knee, 

I  prayed  for  her  I  left  that  day 
Beneath  the  orange  tree. 

'Tis  eventide,  and  again  to  me 
The  summer  breezes  sigh ; 


THE    ORANGE   TREE.  83 

The  orange  flowers  are  fair  to  see — 

So  tenderly  they  lie  ; 
But  oh  !  there's  agfrave  'neath  the  orange  tree, 

And  I  would  that  1  could  die  ! 


r 


SOMEWHERE. 

■  S  she  biding,  where  eternal  summer  smiles  upon 
the  seas, 
And  the  snowy  orange  blossoms  ever  flake  the  shelly 

strand  ? 
Is  she  biding,  is  she  biding  where  the  tender  tropic 

breeze 
Tells  the  story  of  his  wooings  to  the  billows  on  the 
sand  ? 
Somewhere,  somewhere,  I  know  not  where, 

Upon  the  land  or  sea— 
Somewhere,  somewhere,  all  pure  and  fair 
My  love  abides  for  me. 

Is  she  biding  'mid  the  clover  blooms  upon  the  purple 

hills, 
Where  the  mellow  bees  are  humming  and  the  apple 

blossoms  float  ? 


SOMEWHERE.  85 


Is  she  biding,  is  she  biding^  where  the  brooklet  leaps 

and  trills, 
And  does  sne  bind  the  daisies  in  a  posy    for   her 
throat  ? 
Somewhere,  somewhere,  I  know  not  where, 

My  Love  and  I  shall  meet. 
For  there's  a  Fate  through  foul  and  fair 
That  guides  my  wayward  feet. 

Is  she  biding  where  the  starlight  gleams  upon  the 

frozen  gloom, 
And  faintly  ring  the  carols  that  awake  the  drowsy 

morn? 
Is  she  biding,  is  she  biding  where  the  roses  never 

bloom, 
And  the  poppies  never  wave  their  crimson  banners 

through  the  com  ? 
She  bides  somewhere,  I  know  not  where, 

But  surely  this  I  know  : 
'Twill  alway  seem  like  summer  there, 

However  the  wind  may  blow  ! 


THE  MEADOW  PATH. 

WHEN  lass  and  laddie,  you  and  I, 
With  little  lives  unknown  to  care, 
I  chased  for  you  the  butterfly, 

And  twined  the  daisies  in  your  hair. 
Once  more  we  tread  the  very  spot  ; 

The  daisies  still  are  blowing — see  ! 
I  thought  you  loved  me  then  ;  if  not, 
Give  now  your  heart  to  me  ! 

Fate  turned  from  yours  my  path  aside, 

That  once  across  the  flowers  had  lain, 
And  in  the  foam  of  Folly's  tide 

I  sought  to  soothe  my  grief  in  vain  ; 
Some  face,  I  said,  will  seem  as  fair. 

Some  other  eye  as  soft  to  see. 
I  gazed,  but  saw  no  beauty  there  ; 

So  give  your  heart  to  me  ! 


THE   MEADOW  PATH.  87 

Alas  !  and  have  I  come  too  late 

To  win  what  I  have  lost  so  long  ? 
And  must  I  stand  without  the  gate 

By  sin  and  sorrow  tossed  so  long  ? 
AhJ  no  ;  the  night  must  end  in  light, 

Within  your  eyes  the  dawn  I  see  ; 
So,  while  the  shadows  wing  their  flight, 

Give  now  your  heart  to  me  ! 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  FEATHER. 

TH  E  dew  is  on  the  heather. 
The  moon  is  in  the  sky. 
And  the  captain's  waving  feather 

Proclaims  the  hour  is  nigh, 

When  some  upon  their  horses 

Shall  through  the  battle  ride, 

And  some  with  bleeding  corses 

Must  on  the  heather  bide. 

The  dust  is  on  the  heather 
The  moon  is  in  the  sky, 

And  about  the  captain's  feather 
The  bolts  of  battle  fly  ; 

But  hark,  what  sudden  wonder 
Breaks  forth  upon  the  gloom  ? 

It  is  the  cannon's  thunder- 
It  is  the  voice  of  doom  ! 


CAPTAIN'S   FEATHER. 


The  blood  is  on  the  heather, 

The  night  is  in  the  sky, 
And  the  gallant  captain*s  feather 

Shall  wave  no  more  on  high  ; 
The  grave  and  holy  brother 

To  God  is  saying  Mass, 
But  who  shall  tell  his  mother, 

And  who  shall  tell  his  lass  ? 


BOAT  SONG. 


[Respectfully  dedicated  to  Mrs.  Mary  Coffee  O'Neal,  of 
Florence,  Ala.] 


TH  ERE' S  music  on  the  river  !    '  Tis  the  purling  of 
the  tide, 
And  merrily  it  tinkles  from  the  bubbles  as  we  glide, 
Now  it  fades  away  to  silence  ;  now  it  wakes  so  sweet  a 

note, 
Fancy  whispers  'tis  an  echo  from  a  laughing  Naiad's 

throat ; 
Or  else  it  is  fair  Undine  who  is  singing  'neath  the  wave  ; 
Or  yet  perchance  the  Lorelei  within  her  crystal  cave. 

There's  music  on  the  river  !     More  joyously  'tis  heard 
Gaily  trilling  from  the  bosom  of  a  bonnie  mocking- 
bird 
Amid  the  swaying  willow  trees,  melodiously  clear, 


BOAT  SONG. 


He  carols  to  his  brooding  mate  the  lay  she  loves  to 

hear. 
How  tenderly  she  listens  with  her  little  heart  a-beat! 
Though  he  sings  it  o'er  a  thousand  times  she  thinks  it 

just  as  sweet. 

There's  music  on  the  river  !    'Tis  the  fluting  of  the 

wind 
Blithely  boasting  of  the  flowers  he  has  wooed  and  left 

behind. 
Do  you  scent  the  fragrant  kisses  that  he  brings  upon 

his  mouth  ? 
They  were  stolen  from  the  lilies  of  the  lakelet  in  the 

south  ; 
And  alas,  the  lissome  roses,  dewy  darlings  of  the  night, 
He  has  left  them  broken-hearted  in  the  sultry  noon  to 

blight. 

There's  music  on  the  river  !    It  will  never  know  eclipse, 
For  'tis  the  peerless  melody  that  floats  from  Beauty's 
lips; 


92  BOAT  SONG. 


Ah  !  gently  it  is  wafted  from  its  home  of  rosy  bloom. 

And  it  steals  upon  the  senses  like  a  fairy-brought  per- 
fume ; 

O  sweetly  carol  wind  and  bird  and  tinkling  water  fall, 

But  the  gentle  voice  of  woman  is  the  sweetest  sound  of 
all! 


ALABAMA. 

WHY  shines  the  moon  so  wan  and  white  ? 
Why  drift  the  shades  so  thick  to-night 
Beneath  the  winds  that  wail  in  flight 

Across  the  sobbing  foam  ? 
I  watched  the  happy  swallows  flee 
Beyond  the  lurid  autumn  sea  ; 
They  fled  and  left  the  gloom  to  me, 
Far— far  from  home. 

Know' St  thou  that  balmy  Southern  land. 
By  myrtle  crowned,  by  zephyrs  fanned, 
Where  verdant  hills  and  forests  grand 

Smile  'neath  an  azure  dome  ? 
'Tis  there  the  stars  shed  softer  beams 
As  if  to  bless  the  woods  and  streams  ; 
'Tis  there  I  wander  in  my  dreams, 

Far— far  from  home. 


ALABAMA. 


I  long  to  hear  the  murmuring  pine, 
To  see  the  golden  jasmine  twine, 
For  there  my  fancy  builds  her  shrine 

Where  e'er  my  footsteps  roam. 
O,  sunny  land,  for  thy  sweet  sake 
A  thousand  tender  memories  wake  ; 
For  thee  my  heart  is  like  to  break, 

Far — far  from  home. 


THE  PINES. 

THROUGH  circling  seasons  night  and  day, 
Forlornly  gaunt  and  wistful 
They  voice  the  same  pathetic  lay 
With  echoes  weird  and  tristful. 
Have  they  incurred  some  secret  stain, 

Some  sin  beyond  redeeming  ? 
Alas  !  their  sorrow  spells  my  brain 
And  mingles  with  my  dreaming. 

They  never  feel  the  fragrant  charms 

From  violets  upbreathing  ; 
They  never  heed  the  blushing  arms 

Of  roses  round  them  wreathing. 
Their  mystic  woe  knows  no  relief  : 

They  stand  through  endless  ages 
Symbolic  of  a  hopeless  grief 

Nor  love  nor  time  assuages. 


I  LOVE  THE  SHADOWS  BEST. 

A      THOUSAND  voices  hath  the  morn 
^jL      That  wake  the  dreaming  light ; 
A  thousand  shadows  hath  the  eve, 

The  children  of  the  night. 
But  though  the  melodies  of  morn 
Of  rapture  and  of  bliss  are  born, 

I  love  the  shadows  best ; 
For  softly  floating,  meek  and  brown, 
They  kiss  my  weary  eyelids  down 

And  soothe  my  heart  to  rest. 


NOONTIDE. 

LO  !  here  amid  the  summer  flowers, 
Half -dozing  through  the  noonday  hours 
In  shadows  cool  and  dim, 
I  rest  at  ease  from  care  and  cark, 
With  pinks  and  violets  to  mark 
My  small  horizon's  rim. 

A  truant  cricket  gone  astray 
Indulges  in  a  roundelay — 

A  lissome  footed  guest ; 
And  then  ere  long  I  entertain 
Gay  butterflies,  a  dazzling  train 

In  gold  and  purple  drest. 

At  will  upon  the  fountain  spray 
I  watch  the  frolic  colors  play 
In  soft,  translucent  bars  ; 


NOONTIDE. 


Or  gazing  in  the  leafy  skies 
I  dream  I  see  a  dryad's  eyes 
Laugh  mid  the  jasmine  stars. 

While  from  the  gardens  wealth  of  blooms 
A  myriad  spicy-winged  perfumes 

In  sweet  procession  pass  ; 
And  far  and  faint  the  wild  bees  hum, 
Echoing  like  an  elfln  drum, 

Beats  time  amid  the  grass. 


THE  EXILES. 

(A  Cuban  patriot  on  the  streets  of  Montreal  forcibly 
liberated  a  caged  bird  which  he  recognized  as  a  native  of 
his  beloved  isle.) 

SWEET  Bird,  I  see  thy  gilded  cage, 
Thy  fevered  eyes  and  wild  unrest. 
And,  oh  !  my  heart  would  fain  assuage 
The  woes  that  wring  thy  gentle  breast. 

Too  vast  for  tears,  thy  perfect  pc.in 

Expression  seeks  in  peerless  song. 
Whose  haunting  notes  and  low  refrain 

Are  fraught  with  memories  of  wrong. 

An  alien  'neath  a  lowering  sky, 

I  too  am  not  unknown  to  Care  ; 
I  watch  the  dreary  clouds  go  by — 

The  dusky  pennants  of  Despair. 


THE   EXILES. 


Knowest  thou  the  land  where  merrily 
The  sunbeams  chase  and  shadows  flee, 

Where  happy  stars  laugh  in  the  sky, 
And  laughing  stars  dance  on  the  sea  ? 

Knowest  thou  the  land  where  Myrtle  droops 
And  blushes  in  the  ardent  breeze, 

Where  Yellow  Jasmine  lightly  loops 
Its  golden  arms  round  wooing  trees  ? 

Ah  !  knowest  thou  where  Magnolias  blow, 
With  white  brows  leaning  to  the  light. 

Or  idly  swaying  to  and  fro, 
Caressed  by  the  enamored  Night  ? 

Where  Summer's  banner  never  furls, 

And  Fancy  rings  a  fairy  chime, 
While  all  the  hours  glide  like  pearls 

A-down  the  rosary  of  Time  ? 

Sweet  Bird,  I  note  thy  bosom  swell, 
Thy  wildly  throbbing  heart  expand  ; 


THE   EXILED. 


I  see,  I  see  thou  knowest  it  well — 
For  'tis,  oh  !  'tis  our  native  land! 

I  have  no  wing  to  skim  the  blue, 

No  plume  to  scorn  the  wind  and  sea, 
But  thou  shalt  cleave  the  tempest  through, 
And  in  my  thought  IMl  fly  with  thee. 

Away  !  thy  bars  are  burst  in  twain, 
I  spurn  thy  prison  in  the  sod — 

Who  breaks  the  bond  on  Freedom  lain 
Fulfils  the  sweetest  law  of  God  ! 


THE  BLOSSOMS  OF  THE  SEA. 

WHERE  ocean  crags  are  lifting 
Their  rugged  heads  on  high, 
Where  silver  sands  are  shifting 

Beneath  the  summer  sky, 
Upon  the  emerald  billows,  like  daisies  on  the  lea, 
Behold  the  laughing  bubbles— the  blossoms  of  the  sea. 

O  richer  than  the  roses 

By  lissome  fingers  tied, 
O  purer  than  the  posies 

That  crown  the  happy  bride. 
No  mortal  hand  may  cull  them ;  they  were  not  born  to  be 
The  toys  of  idle  beauty — the  blossoms  of  the  sea. 

No  Arctic  cold  can  chill  them 

However  keen  it  blow, 
No  tropic  heat  can  kill  them 


THE   BLOSSOMS   OF    THE   SEA.  103 

However  fierce  it  glow  ; 
Their  lustre  never  withers  :  with  garlands  glad  and  free, 
They  gird  the  world  with  beauty — the  blossoms  of  the 
sea. 

When  hostile  flags  are  flinging 

Their  scorn  from  sail  to  sail, 
And  shot  and  shell  are  winging 

With  death  upon  the  gale, 
When  gallant  eyes  grow  brighter,  and  cowards  fain 

would  flee 
They  flash  in  fearless  millions— the  blossoms  of  the  sea. 

And  when  the  battle's  ended 

That  stormed  along  the  waves. 
And  solemn  skies  are  splendid 

Above  the  ocean  graves, 
How  eerie  is  their  shining  that  laughed  but  now  in 

glee. 
How  sorrowful  their  sobbing— the  blossoms  of  the  sea. 


THE  PICTURES  IN  THE  SKY. 

THE  heavens  had  ceased  their  thunder 
And  the  West  was  all  ablaze  ; — 
Upon  the  radiant  wonder 
Three  faces  turned  to  gaze. 

Now  one  was  childish  and  eager, 

And  one  was  manly  and  bold, 
But  the  last  was  worn  and  meager 

As  it  viewed  the  purple  and  gold. 

And  amid  the  changeful  glory 
Each  saw  more  splendidly  fair, 

Than  aught  in  song  or  story 
A  beautiful  vision  there. 


THE  PICTURES  IN    THE   SKY. 


Said  the  child  :  "  Beside  a  river 
That  glimmers  along  the  sky 

I  see  with  wings  a-quiver, 
A  golden  butterfly  ! " 

"  Mine  eyes  behold  a  maiden/' 
Cried  out  the  joyful  youth, 

"  Her  tresses  with  gold  are  laden, 

Her  eyes  are  brimming  with  truth  !" 

Then  said  the  old  man  slowly  : 
"  Far  over  the  Western  wave. 

By  the  dying  day  made  holy, 
I  see  a  peaceful  grave  ! " 

And  thus  ere  night  had  driven 

Her  dusky  steeds  a-near, 
Kind  God  to  each  had  given 

The  sight  he  held  most  dear. 


o 


THE  SINGER'S  REWARD. 

A  Legend. 

ONCE  there  dwelt  a  singer  in  a  valley  faraway, 
Who  in  the  fields  with  loving  art  awoke  his  lute 
and  lay. 


Now  though  his  song,  nor  loud  nor  long,  was  strangely 

sweet  to  hear, 
One  day  he  said,  while  on  his  cheek  there  gleamed  a 

silent  tear  : 

"  My  note  is  low,  my  strain  is  weak,  my  singing  all  in 

vain  ; 
The  little  guerdon  I  desire  I  cannot  hope  to  gain. 

"  1  do  not  care  for  lofty  fame,  for  wealth  I  do  not  long— 
I  only  wish  my  fellow-men  to  love  me  for  my  song  ! " 


THE   SINGER'S  REWARD. 


The  kindly  zephyrs  caught  his  lays  and  bore  them  far 

and  wide, 
"  Such  songs  were  never  sung  before  ! "  the  people  rose 

and  cried. 

The  great  king  even  listened  in  his  palace  by  the  sea, 
And  said,  "  Some  day  we'll  send  for  him  and  honored 
he  shall  be." 

Alas,  no  herald  ever  came,  the  ancient  legend  saith  ; 
But  when  he  put  his  lute  away  and  laid  him  down  in 
death, 

The  people  made  a  great  a-do,  and  reared  a  column 

high. 
In  honor  of  the  singer  they  had  left  in  want  to  die. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  SUMMER. 

SO  gently  did  sweet  Summer  pass  me  by, 
So  lovely  was  the  smile  she  cast, 
Lulled  by  her  beauty  I 
Scarce  knew  she  passed. 

I  only  caught  a  gleaming  in  the  west 
That  must  have  been  her  trailing  gown, 

When  Night,  unwelcome  guest. 
Came  swooping  down. 

O  little  Star,  thy  pale  and  quivering  face 
Proclaims  that  thou  didst  never  see 

Another  with  her  grace 
And  melody  ! 


THE   FLIGHT   OF  SUMMER.  109 

Beneath  some  other  sky  her  loveliness 

Shall  float  upon  the  waving  wheat, 
And  other  ears  shall  bless 

Her  carols  sweet  I 

So  haste,  ye  Winds  that  blow  where'er  ye  list, 
Unseen  through  all  the  changeful  years. 

And  tell  her  that  ye  kissed 
These  falling  tears. 

Fair  Star,  the  hour  is  late  ;  our  dreary  lot 

Come  let  us  strive  to  drown  in  sleep, 
I,  in  my  lonely  cot, 

Thou  in  the  deep. 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE-EYED  THIEF. 

ONE  eve  while  splendor  filled  the  West, 
And  told  the  day's  approaching  doom, 
Alone  I  sat,  by  care  oppressed, 

Within  my  sad  and  silent  room  ; 
A  sunbeam  danced  upon  the  floor. 
And  as  it  fled,  the  gladsome  ray, 
A  little  thief  crept  in  the  door 
And  stole  my  heart  away  ! 

She  to  the  raylet  seemed  akin, 

So  bright  she  was,  so  sweet  and  fair ; 
I  wondered  much  that  she  came  in, 

I  wondered  more  she  lingered  there. 
When,  lo  !  as  lightly  as  a  leaf, 

She  kissed  my  forehead,  gaunt  and  gray  ; 
The  darling  little  blue-eyed  thief 

Who  stole  my  heart  away  ! 


THE   LITTLE   BLUE-EYED    THIEF. 

She  went  as  softly  as  she  came, 

A  tinkling  laugh  was  all  I  heard  ; 
I  knew  it  was  the  little  dame, 

So  much  it  sounded  like  a  bird. 
Then  with  my  vanished  gloom  and  grief, 

Another  thing  I  lost  that  day, 
And  soon  I  knew  the  little  thief 

Had  borne  my  heart  away. 

Oft  since,  she  glides  within  my  room, 

And  ever  makes  my  sorrows  flee, 
But  though  she  takes  away  the  gloom. 

She  never  brings  my  heart  to  me. 
And  when  I  say  "  Exchange  is  fair," 

She  only  smiles  and  whispers  "  Nay,'* 
The  little  thief  with  go  Iden  hair 

Who  stole  my  heart  away. 

So  swiftly  all  my  days  go  by, 

I'm  hardly  ever  lonely  now. 
For  if  my  darling  hears  me  sigh 

She  smoothes  the  wrinkles  from  my  brow. 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE-EYED  THIEF. 

My  love  for  her  is  past  belief, 
And  always  when  she  comes  I  say  : 

"  God  bless  the  little  blue-eyed  thief 
Who  stole  my  heart  away  ! " 


MY  COMRADE. 

IS  there  within  the  palace  of  thy  heart 
A  chamber  yet  unentered  and  alone, 
Whose  distant  walls  all  unadorned  by  art 
Have  never  yet  the  faintest  echo  known  ; 

Whose  threshold  ne'er  has  felt  the  pulsing  feet 
Of  friend  or  foe,  whose  door-way  still  is  barred, 

Whose  smooth  and  pearly  vault,  all  pure  and  sweet, 
Has  never  been  by  worldly  visions  marred  ? 

I  do  entreat  thee  now,  if  such  there  be — 
Perchance  as  yet  e'en  to  thyself  unknown — 

However  small,  oh  harken  to  my  plea, 
And  let  me  call  that  lonely  place  my  own  ! 

Undo  and  let  me  in  that  silent  door  ; 
A  hermit  I  will  be,  and  ne'er  intrude 


MV  COMRADE. 


Upon  thy  joys,  but  will  for  evermore 
A  vigil  keep  o'er  thee  in  quietude. 

Oh  I  will  ask  of  thee  no  fond  caress, 
Nor  ever  make  demand  upon  thy  care  ; 

And  I  will  be  so  still  thou  wilt  but  guess, 
While  fortune  smiles  on  thee,  that  I  am  there. 

But  should  it  chance  upon  some  distant  year 
Thy  joys  like  roses  perish  one  by  one, 

And  all  the  blessings  that  thou  boldest  dear 
Wither  like  sunset  hues  when  day  is  done  ; 

That  fondly  cherished  friends  frown  with  disdain 
Or  turn  away  in  ill-concealed  delight, 

My  love  unsought  and  long  in  silence  lain 
Shall  burn  for  thee  a  beacon  in  the  night. 


A  DREAM. 

I   DREAMED  I  was  a  cag^d  bird  far  brought 
From  a  sunset  land, 
Who  once  had  trilled  his  melodies  untaught 
On  a  tropic  strand. 

I  sang  my  artless  lays  both  morn  and  eve 

For  my  lady's  ear, 
To  soothe  her  gentle  heart,  and  win  reprieve 

From  grief  and  fear. 

I  soon  forgot  my  home  by  the  sundown  shore, 

So  kind  was  she  ; 
Nor  cared  I  aught  if  I  should  dwell  no  more 

By  the  sunset  sea. 

For  the  lovely  hues  that  dyed  the  Western  skies 

Were  not  more  fair 
Than  the  light  that  gleamed  within  my  lady's  eyes 

Or  lit  her  hair. 


A    DREAM. 


One  dewy  morn,  when  I  had  warbled  o'er 

My  sweetest  lay, 
She  wept  ;  and  opening  wide  my  prison  door. 

Bade  me  away  ! 

Then  thinking  that  she  wished  me  from  her  side, 

No  more  to  see 
Her  face,  1  drooped  my  quivering  wings  and  died 

Of  liberty  ! 


MOCK  ORANGE. 

WHERE  the  Northern  and  the  Southern  airs 
Unite  in  skies  of  deeper  blue, 
There  blows  a  tree  whose  form  and  hue 
Is  like  to  that  the  orange  wears. 


Men  say  it  mocks  the  orange  tree — 

'Tis  no  reproach  and  brings  no  shame, 
For  those  who  see  must  soon  exclaim, 

How  strangely  sweet  the  mockery  ! 


It  rivals  in  a  winsome  way 

The  orange  flower's  pure  delight. 
And  wafts  upon  the  wings  of  night 

The  spicy  smell  of  far  Cathay. 


MOCK  ORANGE. 


With  grateful  heart  a  veil  of  white 
It  gently  throws  on  mother  earth  ; 
When  the  stars  smile  down  in  silent  mirth 

Its  glossy  leaves  laugh  back  the  light. 

Though  loving  best  the  Southern  breeze, 
That  sighs  in  numbers  as  it  goes, 
It  cheers  the  dreary  wind  that  blows 

With  purple  lips  from  Northern  seas. 

In  the  noon  of  night  a  song  it  sings. 
So  sweet  and  low,  so  soft  and  clear, 
In  slumber  oft,  I  dream  I  hear 

The  flutter  of  a  fairy's  wings. 


THE  HAPPY  DAY. 

AS  often  as  the  April  morn 
Climbs  softly  up  the  Eastern  sky, 
And  glimmers  through  the  milk-white  thorn, 

Or  dances  where  the  violets  lie, 
Though  wondrous  fair  the  hills  may  be, 

And  many  a  grace  the  fields  adorn, 
My  wayward  thoughts  arise  and  flee 
To  greet  a  future,  fairer  morn. 

Full  oft  at  noon,  when  lavish  May 

With  myriad  blossoms  scents  the  air. 
And  wild  birds  sing  and  brooklets  play. 

As  if  to  flout  and  banish  care, 
I  feel  the  fragrance  of  the  breeze, 

I  heed  the  bird's  and  brooklet's  tune  ; 
And  yet,  though  wooed  by  charms  like  these, 

My  fancy  seeks  a  rarer  noon. 


THE   HAPPY  DAY. 


Oft  when  the  evening  skies  are  thrilled 

With  every  tint  that  June  may  lend, 
And  every  woodland  path  is  filled 

With  scents  in  which  all  perfumes  blend, 
Until  it  seems  the  hour  has  won 

A  charm  'neath  which  'twere  sin  to  grieve, 
My  soul  will  shun  the  setting  sun. 

To  revel  in  a  viewless  eve. 

Where  are  you  now,  O  Happy  Day  ? 

I  long  to  hail  your  waiting  beam  ; 
1  marvel  much  at  your  delay, 

So  like  the  glamour  of  a  dream. 
Delay  no  more,  but  spread  your  wing 

And  hasten  o'er  the  stormy  sea. 
My  perished  hopes  come  quickly  bring 

In  perfect  radiance  to  me. 

But  yet,  perchance,  delay  is  best. 
Though  many  a  vanished  hope  you  bring, 

For  I  can  bide  your  coming  crest. 
But  not  endure  your  parting  wing  ; 


THE   HAPPY  DAY. 


So  keep  for  me  your  pinions  bright  ; 

And  fold  your  plumes  across  the  wave, 
And  when  all  earthly  visions  blight, 

Arise  for  me  beyond  the  grave. 


HAFIZ. 

MORE  pleasing  than  the  mellow  flute 
Or  harp  e'er  swept  by  minstrel  hand, 
The  centuries  mourn  thy  silent  lute, 
Sweet  poet  of  the  Persian  land. 


While  roses  wreathed  the  bubbling  wine 
And  tender  glances  crowned  the  lay, 

O  happy  bard,  what  joy  was  thine 
When  twilight  hushed  the  noisy  day  ? 

What  dark-eyed  beauties  bent  above 
With  bated  breath  to  catch  each  note  ? 

For  hearts  could  never  choose  but  love 
When  love  was  taught  by  such  a  throat. 


HAFIZ. 

Thy  limpid  voice  and  glorious  strains 
Not  always  rose  to  mirthful  ears, 

The  fading  of  thy  soft  refrains 
Was  often  fraught  with  sighs  and  tears. 

Though  louder  notes  perchance  may  swell 
And  force  the  languid  pulse  to  start, 

*Tis  not  the  epic  strain  that  dwell 
The  longest  in  the  human  heart. 

Alas,  thy  voice  has  ceased  to  soar 
And  chase  sweet  echo  as  it  flies  : 

Thy  wooing  tones  will  draw  no  more 
The  jetty  lids  from  dreaming  eyes. 

The  Persian  breezes  wail  in  flight, 

In  Ispahan  the  roses  weep 
While  nightingales  bemoan  the  night, 

And  round  thy  grave  sad  vigils  keep. 


A  DIRGE. 

WITH  pallid  cheeks  and  wringing  hands, 
And  dusky  garments  sad  and  sere, 
The  dreary  winds  from  Northern  lands 
Have  come  to  sob  at  Autumn's  bier  ; 
Upon  her  robe  of  brilliant  dyes^ 
Behold,  in  chilly  splendor  lies 
The  tribute  of  a  frozen  tear.  ' 

Come,  Winter,  come  and  drop  the  pall 

That  only  thou  know'st  how  to  spread  ; 
In  tender  silence  let  it  fall 
In  flawless  folds  from  foot  to  head  ; 

Within  our  hearts'  most  sacred  shrine, 
And  guarded  by  a  love  divine 
Shall  live  the  memory  of  the  dead  ! 


IN  HAVEN. 

I   HEAR  the  distant  breakers  roar  ; 
Their  sleepless  wrath  can  harm  no  more, 
My  life-bark  soon  will  touch  the  shore 

Whose  beauty  fadeth  never. 
How  sweetly  sings  the  bird  of  peace  ! 
Oh,  let  his  tender  note  increase. 
For  sorrow  soon  shall  know  surcease 
Forever  and  forever. 

Oh,  Love,  bid  me  forget  my  fears. 

The  cares  that  fret,  the  wrongs  of  years  ; 

My  sea-worn  heart  sweet  harbor  nears 

Beyond  the  storm's  endeavor. 
And  let  your  tresses  brush  my  cheek, 
When  hearts  and  fondest  words  are  weak  ; 
With  soft  caress  your  passion  speak 

Forever  and  forever. 


126  IN  HA  VEN. 


Awake  the  smile  I  dreamed  of  old, 
As  warm  as  noontide's  balmy  gold, 
Yet  soft  as  moonlight  faintly  rolled 

When  summer  cloudlets  sever. 
Your  eyes  are  like  the  beacon  light 
That  beckons  through  the  darksome  night : 
At  last  1  read  my  fate  aright 
Forever  and  forever,  ] 


PAUL  HAMILTON  HAYNE. 

ALL  strains  are  his.    But  most  his  lines 
Are  fraught  with  peace  and  woodland  pleasures, 
With  bough-swing  of  the  Georgian  pines 
Enwoven  through  the  golden  measures. 

Beneath  the  purple  muscadine 
Sweet  Fancy  brings  him  many  a  vision, 

Where  frolic  Dryads,  laughing,  twine 
In  airy  cirques  and  songs  Elysian. 

Who  notes  the  frosts  that  fringe  his  brows  ! 

His  tide  of  song  is  swelling  sweeter. 
With  breathings  of  the  myrtle  boughs 

And  sunny  roses  m  the  meter. 


PAUL   HAMILTON  HAYNE, 


Who  cavils  at  the  wings  of  Time  ! 

They  only  waft  him  tones  more  tender 
That  he  may  chant  in  mellow  rhyme 

Of  wild  wood  charms  and  cloud  land  splendor. 

The  winsome  Nine,  a  lissome  throng, 
With  dimpled  smiles  still  linger  near  him  ; 

And  still  supreme  in  Southern  song, 
He  pipes  and  millions  joy  to  hear  him. 


AT  THE  BALL. 

THEY  bow  at  the  end  of  the  "  Lancers," 
And  turn  to  the  fairest  of  all ; — 
'  Shall  we  sue  in  vain  for  a  ballad  ?  " 
They  say  to  the  Belle  of  the  Ball. 

Then  a  hush  falls  over  the  dancers, — 

A  hush  they  know  not  why  ; 
And  she  seems  as  one  who  is  dreaming 

As  she  sweeps  them  slowly  by. 

The  smile  so  lately  wreathing 

Her  lips  of  deepest  red 
Is  gone,  and  the  feverish  glitter 

That  flashed  from  her  eyes  has  fled. 

Around  her  witching  dimples, 

Where  the  ruby  current  flows, 
They  note  with  silent  wonder 

The  lily  banish  the  rose. 


I30  AT    THE   BALL. 


Then  over  the  harp-strings  bending, 

She  sings  an  old  love  song, 
And  the  dancers  gather  around  her, 

A  gay  and  thoughtless  throng. 

"  What  a  wonderful  depth  of  feeling  ! " 
They  whisper,  and  stare  with  surprise  ; 

She  sings,  unheeding  the  murmur, 
With  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes. 

She  sees  not  the  dazzling  lustres, 
She  sees  not  the  crowd  looking  on  ; 

And  the  song  flows  on  as  plaintive 
As  the  song  of  the  dying  swan. 

She  thinks  of  a  gallant  trooper 
Who  sailed  to  a  foreign  strand  ; 

Her  eyes  are  dim  for  a  lover 
Who  fell  in  a  distant  land. 


She  recalls  the  hour  of  parting 
,     Where  the  ships  at  anchor  ride, 


AT    THE   BALL, 


And  again  the  martial  music 
Rings  over  the  foaming  tide. 

Across  the  taffrail  leaning, 

He  tosses  a  kiss  through  the  spray  ; 
And  the  ship  fades  out  in  the  hazes 

That  muffle  the  mouth  of  the  bay. ' 

She  thinks  of  the  day  of  shadows 
When  her  heart  grew  numb  with  pain, 

And  the  sky  grew  black  before  her 
As  she  read  the  list  of  the  slain. 

Then  her  thoughts  fly  over  the  billows  ; 

She  kneels  by  a  lonely  grave 
Where  the  tall  reeds  shiver  and  quiver, 

And  the  slender  palm  trees  wave. 

She  sees  the  black  bats  flitting 
Beneath  the  wan  moonlight ; 

She  hears  the  wind  low  sobbing 
And  dying  away  in  the  night. 


AT    THE   BALL. 


Lo  !  these  are  the  voices  and  visions 
That  haunt  the  Belle  of  the  Ball, 

Filling  the  room  with  echoes 
And  floating  across  the  wall. 

And  when  her  song  has  ended 
With  a  strain  that  rose  in  the  air, 

And  fell  on  the  wing  of  Silence 
Like  the  close  of  an  angel's  prayer — 

The  lips  of  the  dancers  gayly 

Bubble  with  praises  ;  but  oh  ! 
'Twas  the  wail  of  a  heart  that  was  breaking 

They  had  heard,  and  did  not  know ! 


CHINESE  GORDON. 

ONWARD  roll,  thou  mighty  river, 
Tell  his  story  to  the  seas, 
On  thy  breast  the  moon  shall  quiver, 

On  thy  bosom  sob  the  breeze. 
Lo  !  another  Star  is  gleaming. 
With  undying  lustre  streaming, 
Newly  risen  o'er  the  desert 

From  the  City  of  Khartoum. 

Chinese  Gordon  !  who  shall  sing  him 
Fitting  songs  to  wreathe  his  name  ? 
Chinese  Gordon !  who  shall  bring  him 
Laurel  leaves  to  crown  his  fame  ? 
When  the  sun  of  England's  glory 
Lights  the  way  for  song  and  story, 
How  ^ twill  blaze  o'er  gallant  Gordon, 
In  the  City  of  Khartoum  ! 


CHINESE    GORDON. 


O  ye  statesmen,  ye  who  barter 
Manly  blood  and  woman's  wail, 

How  before  the  soldier-martyr 
Doth  your  pomp  and  pageant  pale  ! 

Whom  it  was  your  right  to  cherish 

Ye  have  left  alone  to  perish  ; 

Doth  no  vision  come  to  haunt  ye 

From  the  City  of  Khartoum  ? 

Onward  roll,  O  mighty  river. 

Tell  his  story  to  the  seas  ; 
On  thy  breast  the  moonbeams  quiver, 

On  thy  bosom  sobs  the  breeze. 
H^nor  to  the  Star  new-gleaming, 
Honor  to  the  lustre  streaming, 
Ever  waxing,  never  waning 

O'er  the  City  of  Khartoum  ! 


THE  PHANTOMS  OF  THE  NIGHT. 

(  Written  on  Christmas  Eve.) 

I   BEND  above  the  hearth  in  vain, 
The  flames  no  longer  glow, 
But  ever  through  the  frozen  pane 
The  chilling  moonbeams  flow  ; 
And  floating  on  the  silver  tide 

In  cerements  weird  and  white, 
They  come  and  will  not  be  denied, 
The  phantoms  of  the  night. 

They  wear  the  very  guise  of  truth 

And  steal  across  the  floor, 
Ambitions  of  my  vanished  youth 

And  faces  loved  of  yore  ; 
So  wistfully  they  gaze  on  me 


136  THE   PHANTOMS    OF   THE   NIGHT. 

They  pain  me  with  their  plight ! 
My  eyes  grow  dim,  I  scarce  can  see 
The  phantoms  of  the  night. 

"  Avaunt !"  I  cry,  "no  longer  press 

Your  weary  haunting  cease  ; 
I  do  not  hope  for  happiness. 

I  only  pray  for  peace." 
But  through  the  night  they  come  and  come 

With  terrors  to  affright ; 
Their  cheeks  are  pale,  their  lips  are  dumb, 

The  phantoms  of  the  night. 


A  LEGEND. 

A  BARD  who  oft  had  made  the  Sun-Lands  ring 
With  lute  and  lay,  no  more  of  love  would  sing. 
He  said  :  "  Of  love  1  tire. 
I  long  for  something  higher  ; 
A  theme  that  will  far  grander  glory  bring  ! " 

Then  he  arose,  with  discontented  moan, 

To  seek  some  place  where  love  was  never  known, 

Or  whence  it  long  had  vanished, 

And  was  forever  banished, 
To  wander  in  some  distant  land  alone. 

The  bleak  and  rugged  mountain  crags  he  sought, 
Whose  desolation  ages  past  had  wrought  ; 

But  the  haughty  peaks  ascending. 
Until  with  cloud-land  blending. 
Far  echoed,  each  to  each,  a  loving  thought. 


138  A    LEGEND. 


His  toiling  steps  to  somber  woods  he  bent, 

Whose  mystic  veil  no  hand  had  ever  rent  ; 

But  there  the  trees  embracing, 

With  fond  boughs  interlacing, 

In  sighs  of  love  the  circling  seasons  spent. 

Far  bound  for  trackless  seas  he  spread  his  sail. 
With  thought  that  love  would  flee  the  tempest's  wail  ; 
But,  though  the  raging  surges 
Kept  thundering  their  dirges. 
Wave  leaped  to  wave,  amid  the  roaring  gale. 

And  when  on  noiseless  wing  came  down  the  night, 
With  eyes  uplift  to  heaven's  far  vaulted  height. 
He  saw  in  loving  clusters 
The  stars  laugh  down  their  lusters. 
And  cheer  the  world  with  one  harmonious  light. 

The  bard,  at  last,  grown  old  and  worn  apace. 
His  task  gave  o'er,  and  cried,  with  pallid  face  : 
"  The  way  is  long  and  dreary  ; 


A    LEGEND.  139 


I  now  am  worn  and  weary. 
Is  love  eternal  and  in  every  place  ?" 

And  then  from  out  the  radiant  realm  above 
Came  softly  down  and  cooed  a  gentle  dove  : 
"  Oh  !  love  is  everywhere, 
On  land  and  sea  and  air  ; 
O'er  all  love  reigns  supreme,  for  Godis  love. 


COME,  O  PAN. 

COME,  O  Pan,  why  hast  thou  waited, 
Why  so  long  art  thou  belated  ? 
Lo,  beside  the  Western  sea 
Gayly  flits  the  mellow  bee  ; 
Long  ago  the  birds  were  mated. 
Come,— the  grapes  hang  purple-pated, 
Flowers  blow  for  garlands  fated, 
As  of  old  in  Arcady 

Come,  O  Pan ! 

Quips  and  laughter  unabated 

Crown  the  cup  with  pleasure  freighted. 

I  have  kept  a  pipe  for  thee  ; 

Come  and  swell  the  autumn  glee, 
Leading  Dryads  graceful-gaited, 
Come,  O  Pan  ! 


BONNIE  BELLE. 

JUST  to  please  my  Bonnie  Belle 
With  her  winsome  eyes  of  blue 
Lo,  I  sing  a  villanelle. 


List  the  merry  music  swell ! 

Haste,  ye  rhymes,  in  measure  true 
Just  to  please  my  Bonnie  Belle, 


Have  a  care  to  foot  it  well, 

Tripping  like  a  fairy  crew  ; 
Lo,  I  sing  a  villanelle. 


Come  from  where  the  Pixies  dwell, 
Dance  with  sandals  dipped  in  dew 
Just  to  please  my  Bonnie  Belle. 


BONNIE   BELLE. 


In  her  ear,  the  tiny  shell, 

Let  my  peerless  passion  sue  ; 
Lo,  I  sing  a  villanelle. 


Will  she  listen  ?    Who  can  tell  ? 

Does  she  love  me  ?    Would  I  knew  ! 
Just  to  please  my  Bonnie  Belle 
Lo,  I  sing  a  villanelle. 


SHE  TOSSED  TO  ME  A  KISS. 

SHE  tossed  to  me  a  kiss  !    'Twas  night. 
Yet  every  brooding  care  took  flight, 
The  fountain  leapt  and  laughed  with  glee 
And  all  the  stars  leant  out  to  see. 
And  wondered  at  my  wild  delight. 
Though  fate  my  sweetest  hope  may  blight 
To  crown  with  bliss  a  rival  knight, 
One  joy  I  have  can  never  flee, 

She  tossed  to  me  a  kiss  ! 

Should  fortune  guide  my  lance  aright 
That  I  may  win  her  in  the  fight, 

Oh,  I  will  guard  her  tenderly 

And  she  will  never  be  to  me 
Less  fair  than  when  in  beauty  bright 
She  tossed  to  me  a  kiss  ! 


THE  PIXIES. 

TH  E  frost  hath  spread  a  shining  net 
Where  late  the  autumn  roses  blew, 
On  lake  and  stream  a  seal  is  set 
Where  floating  lilies  charmed  the  view  ; 
So  silently  the  wonder  grew 
Beneath  pale  Dianas  mystic  light, 
I  know  my  fancy  whispers  true, 
The  Pixies  are  abroad  to-night. 

When  at  the  midnight  chime  are  met 
Together  elves  of  every  hue, 

I  trow  the  gazer  will  regret 
That  peers  upon  their  retinue  ; 
For  limb  awry  and  eye  askew 

Have  oft  proclaimed  a  fairy's  spite- 
Peep  slyly,  gallants,  lest  ye  rue 

The  Pixies  are  abroad  to-night. 


THE   PIXIES.  145 


*Tis  said  their  forms  are  tiny,  yet 

All  human  ills  they  can  subdue, 
Or  with  a  wand  or  amulet 

Can  win  a  maiden's  heart  for  you  ; 

And  many  a  blessing  know  to  strew 
To  make  the  way  to  wedlock  bright  ; 

Give  honor  to  the  dainty  crew. 
The  Pixies  are  abroad  to-night. 

ENVOY. 

Prince,  e'en  a  prince  may  vainly  sue 
Unaided  by  a  fairy's  might ; 

Remember  Cinderella's  shoe, 
The  Pixies  are  abroad  to-night. 


FOR  LOVE. 

FOR  love,  the  valiant  knight  of  old, 
In  armor  bright  and  spirit  bold, 
At  joust  and  tourney  fierce  would  ride, 
With  plume  and  lance  when  heralds  cried  ; 
Though  sometimes  in  the  dust  he  rolled. 
And  furthermore  'tis  even  told. 
The  fair  one  still  remaining  cold, 
Perchance  the  hapless  wooer  died 
For  love ! 

Alas  !  now  other  customs  hold  ! 

When  hearts  and  hands  are  won  by  gold, 
And  true  and  brave  must  stand  aside. 
While  Cupid  lad  goes  hungry-eyed. 

What  Knight  would  sleep  beneath  the  mould 
For  love  ? 


THE  PRAISE  OF  RHYME. 

HOW  I  love  the  words  that  rhyme 
Jingling  gayly  as  they  go  ; 
Making  music  like  a  chime 

Rung  in  summer's  amber  glow  ! 
When  Aonian  breezes  blow 

See  them  lightly  dance  in  time  ; 
How  I  love  the  words  that  rhyme 
Jingling  gayly  as  they  go  !^ 

Prithee,  do'st  thou  call  it  crime 

That  I  pipe  their  praises  so, 
Singing  in  a  Southern  clime  ? 

Surely  all  ye  bards  will  know 
How  I  love  the  words  that  rhyme, 

Jingling  gayly  as  they  go  ! 


O  WAYWARD  MUSE. 

O  WAYWARD  Muse  !  when  1  was  gay, 
You  brought  me  lyrics  night  and  day 
Of  birds  and  bees  and  frolic  sheep, 
And  sunny  roses  on  the  steep 
Where  gleeful  zephyrs  lightly  play. 
But  now,  alas  !  when  Sorrow's  sway 
Hath  wreathed  my  path  with  shadows  gray. 
No  more  your  merry  dimples  peep, 
O  wayward  Muse  ! 

Where  are  you  now,  sweet  child  of  May  ? 

Leave  dewy  wood  and  ocean  spray. 
The  moonlit  revels  fairies  keep. 
Alone  I  watch  the  hours  a-creep  ; 

Come  guide  again  my  lissome  lay, 

O  wayward  Muse  ! 


NIGHT-FALL. 

DEAR  little  star,  no  longer  fear  to  peep  ; 
Lo  !  now  the  day,  thine  enemy,  has  fled, 
And  all  his  brazen  revelry  is  dead. 
Take  heart,  and  see  how  o'er  yon  Western  steep 
The  conquered  sun's  fast  fading  banners  sweep. 
Why  dost  delay  ?    Go  seek  my  lady's  bed, 
And  with  thy  silver  fingers  wreathe  her  head 
With  tender  dreams  born  in  the  upper  deep. 
O  happy,  happy  star  !  'tis  thine  to  gaze 
Upon  that  form  where  all  perfections  dwell, 
While  I  an  outcast  mourn  my  dreary  lot  ; 
For  pity  now  entreat  the  midnight  fays 
To  weave  about  her  heart  a  secret  spell. 
That  near  or  far  she  may  forget  me  not. 


AMONG  MY  BOOKS. 

AMONG  my  books — what  rest  is  there 
From  wasting  woes  !  what  balm  for  care  I 
If  ills  appall  or  clouds  hang  low 
And  drooping  dim  the  fleeting  show, 
I  revel  still  in  visions  rare. 
At  will  I  breathe  the  classic  air 
The  wanderings  of  Ulysses  share  ; 
Or  see  the  plume  of  Bayard  flow 
Among  my  books. 

Whatever  face  the  world  may  wear — 
If  Lillian  has  no  smile  to  spare, 

For  others  let  her  beauty  blow. 

Such  favors  I  can  well  forego  ; 
Perchance  forget  the  frowning  fair 
Among  my  books. 


A  GENTLE  LITTLE  LADY. 

A  GENTLE  little  lady,  with  melting  eyes  of  blue, 
Kissed  me  in  a  dream  at  the  middle  of  the  night. 
How  happy  I  would  be  if  my  dream  came  true  ! 

The  moon  through  the  window  a  silver  lustre  threw 

When  the  lovely  vision  rose  like  a  seraf  on  my  sight, 
A  gentle  little  lady,  with  melting  eyes  of  blue. 

1  dreamed  that  she  loved  me,  and  all  my  sorrow  flew 

Far  away,  like  a  bat,  at  the  dawning  of  the  light. 
How  happy  I  would  be  if  my  dream  came  true  ! 

And  as  she  bent  above  me  it  seemed  to  me  I  knew 

Another  who  possessed  each  charm  and  beauty  bright, 
A  gentle  little  lady,  with  melting  eyes  of  blue. 


A   GENTLE  LITTLE  LADY, 


But  my  sorrow  soon  returned,  for  the  moments  were 
but  few, 
She  lingered  there  before  me  in  a  radiance  of  white  ; 
How  happy  I  would  be  if  my  dream  came  true  ! 

Oh,  Sweetheart,  I  will  whisper  the  secret  now  to  you  ; 
Yours  was  the  presence  that  put  my  care  to  flight, 
A.  gentle  little  lady,  with  melting  eyes  of  blue  ; 
How  happy  I  would  be  if  my  dream  came  true  ! 


FORGET-ME-NOT. 

FORGET-ME-NOT,  what  shall  1  say, 
Flower  of  love  and  of  light  ! 
When  the  sunbeams  have  stolen  away, 
And  the  stars  are  peeping  at  play, 

How  shall  I  woo  her  to-night  ? 
O  flower  too  true  to  betray, 

Wilt  thou  carry  my  message  aright, 
If  I  gather  thee  here  to-day, 

Forget-me-not  ? 

Sweet  herald,  I  trust  thee  !    Pray 

Shine  out  bonnie  and  bright, 
Tell  her  my  heart  I  lay 

Before  her  to  bloom  or  to  blight. 
Perchance  for  thy  beauty  she  may 
Forget-me-not ! 


BEFORE  THE  DAWN. 

BEFORE  the  dawn  begins  to  glow, 
A  ghostly  company  I  keep  ; 
Across  the  silent  room  they  creep. 
The  buried  forms  of  friend  and  foe. 
Amid  the  throng  that  come  and  go 

There  are  two  eyes  that  make  me  weep  ; 
Before  the  dawn  begins  to  glow, 
A  ghostly  company  I  keep. 

Two  dear  dead  eyes  ;    I  love  them  so  ! 

They  shine  like  starlight  on  the  deep 

And  often  when  I  am  asleep 
They  stoop  and  kiss  me,  bending  low, 

Before  the  dawn  begins  to  glow. 


UNDER  THE  FLASH    OF    TAPERS  BRIGHT. 

I  LOST  my  heart  at  the  ball  to-night, 
Gazing  too  long  in  Mabel's  eyes 
Under  the  flash  of  the  tapers  bright. 

Because  earth  holds  no  fairer  sight 

Than  Mabel  breathing  her  low  replies, 
I  lost  my  heart  at  the  ball  to-night. 

Tenderly  tall  and  gracefully  slight, 

A  goddess,  she  charms  both  gay  and  wise 
Under  the  flash  of  the  tapers  bright. 

Arise,  faint  hope,  put  fear  to  flight, 

For  Mabel  must  know  ere  the  starlight  dies 
I  lost  my  heart  at  the  ball  to-night. 


is6     UNDER  THE  FLASH  OF  TAPERS  BRIGHT. 

Ye  Stars  that  shine  so  pure  and  white, 
Grant  me  the  boon  that  fate  denies 
Under  the  flash  of  the  tapers  bright. 

Soften  her  soul  with  tender  light, 

Nor  let  her  regret  when  daylight  hies 
I  lost  my  heart  at  the  ball  to-night 
Under  the  flash  of  the  tapers  bright. 


COME,  ARCHER,  COME. 

COME,  Archer,  come  and  bend  the  bow  ! 
The  stars  are  faint,  the  winds  are  low  ; 
And,  where  the  frolic  feet  of  spring 
Have  left  the  woodland  blossoming, 
With  lilies  flecked  the  brooklets  flow. 
Come  ere  the  cock  hath  ceased  to  crow 
His  greeting  to  the  orient  glow  ; 
The  lark  hath  spread  her  dewy  wing. 

Come,  Archer,  come  ! 

So  wandered  Robin  to  and  fro. 

In  Sherwood  forest  long  ago  ; 
And  still  the  woods  are  offering 
A  rapture  that  the  proudest  king. 

In  all  his  pomp,  can  never  know. 

Come,  Archer,  come^. 


IF  SOME  TRUE  MAIDEN'S  LOVE  WERE  MINE. 

ALL  worldly  dreams  I  would  resign, 
Nor  ever  long  for  hidden  lore, 
If  some  true  maiden's  love  were  mine. 


If  but  two  eyes  of  blue  divine 

Could  meet  my  glance  forevermore, 
All  worldly  dreams  I  would  resign. 

The  clouds  would  show  a  silver  line 

And  rainbow  tints  would  hue  them  o'er. 
If  some  true  maiden's  love  were  mine. 

A  jasmine  tree  should  droop  and  twine 

And  peep  within  our  cottage  door, 
All  worldly  dreams  I  would  resign. 


IVERE  SOME  TRUE  MAIDEN'S  LO^E  MINE.   159 

Our  gems  should  be  the  dewdrop's  shine, 

Our  music  float  from  larks  that  soar, 
If  some  true  maiden's  love  were  mine. 

Where  is  she  now  ?    She  gives  no  sign, 

That  loyal  heart,  leal  to  the  core  ! 
All  worldly  dreams  I  would  resign 
If  some  true  maiden's  love  were  mine. 


SLEEP. 

O  SLEEP,  good  mother  of  enchanting  dreams, 
Within  thy  soothing  arms  oh  let  me  lie. 
What  time  the  night-wind  sings  a  lullaby, 

And  the  moon  kisses  down  with  cooling  gleams, 

Mine  eyelids  weary  of  day's  sultry  beams  ; 
Then  let  thy  rarest  visions  come  anigh. 
Dead  hopes  fulfilled  in  perfect  radiancy, 

Whose  fairness  all  my  waking  pain  redeems  ; 
With  Loline  let  me  stray  through  jasmine  bowers, 
A  balmy  world  of  love  whose  stars  are  flowers. 

Where  zephyrs  sigh  in  such  a  tender  way 

They  seem  to  breathe  the  words  we  long  to  say  ; 

And  when  these  dreams  have  come,  good  Sleep,  ah  then 

I  pray  thee  do  not  let  me  wake  again. 


WHEN  THE  CRICKET  SINGS. 

WH  EN  the  cricket  sings  with  elfin  lyre 
In  autumn  fields  of  rich  attire, 
How  sweet  to  gaze,  with  heart  at  rest, 
Where  summer's  flying  feet  have  pressed 
The  glowing  turf  !    What  joy  is  higher  ? 
The  sunbeams  stretch  like  golden  wire 
Whereon  the  winds  at  their  desire 
Chant  choruses  with  happy  zest 
When  the  cricket  sings. 

Yet  when  the  autumn  hues  expire, 
And  winter  gales  shriek  out  in  ire. 
There  comes  an  hour  more  truly  blest, 
For  Love  and  I,  within  our  nest, 
We  heed  no  storm  beside  the  fire 

When  the  cricket  sings  J 


IN  THE  SOUTHERN  PINES. 

OH,  art  thou  weary  of  the  glare 
Of  cities  and  the  fevered  show, 
And  dost  thou  loathe  the  fret  and  care 
That  through  their  ways  forever  flow  ? 
Prithee  to  me  give  ear,  for  lo  ! 
Beside  a  pine-clad  Southern  hill 

There  is  a  place  to  soothe  thy  woe. 
Where  sings  the  lonely  whip-poor-will. 

Thou  wilt  not  hear  the  trumpets*  blare. 

No  diva's  shrill  arpeggio  ; 
No  danseuse  demi-nude  will  dare  i 

Lorgnettes  uplevelled  row  on  row  ; 

But  purer  pleasures  thou  shalt  know, 
The  trembling  fern,  the  purling  rill ; 

For  thee  shall  bound  the  startled  doe 
Where  sings  the  lonely  whip-poor-will. 


SOUTHERN  PINES.  163 

And  thou  shalt  greet  beyond  compare 

The  fairest  vision  life  can  owe, 
When  through  the  calm  and  fragrant  air 

The  night  shall  come  with  stars  a-glow, 

And  tall  magnolias  all  a-blow 
Shall  win  the  zephyrs  to  be  still  ; 

All  this  is  thine  if  thou  wilt  go 
Where  sings  the  lonely  whip-poor-wilL 

ENVOY. 

Oh,  Prince,  I  pray  this  boon  bestow 
On  one  unlearned  in  courtier-skill, 

Come  with  me  now  and  fear  no  foe 
Where  sings  the  lonely  whip-poor-will. 


BEYOND  THE  NIGHT. 

BEYOND  the  night  no  withered  rose 
Shall  mock  the  later  bud  that  blows, 
Nor  lily  blossom  e'er  shall  blight, 
But  all  shall  gleam  more  pure  and  white 
Than  starlight  on  the  Arctic  snows. 

Sigh  not  when  daylight  dimmer  grows 
And  life  a  turbid  river  flows, 
For  all  is  sweetness— all  is  light 
Beyond  the  night. 

Oh,  haste,  sweet  hour  that  no  man  knows  ; 

Uplift  us  from  our  cumbering  woes 
Where  joy  and  peace  shall  crown  the  right. 
And  perished  hopes  shall  blossom  bright — 

To  aching  hearts  bring  sweet  repose 
Beyond  the  night. 


UNIVERSITY   OF    CALIFOENIA   LIBRARY, 
BERKELEY 


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demand  may  be  renewed  if  application  is  made  before 
expiration   of  loan  period. 


JUL  29  1931 


FEB  16  1945 


r^9,r^ 


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jiiM  1  ft  15S8 


V 


A  01881 


39589ti 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


